Shower Streams
by accio-ambition
Summary: Emma's gone and messed up big time, but maybe the infamous Killian Jones can lend a hand...or at least a shoulder in her time of need. Lieutenant Duckling college AU.
1. Chapter 1

The dorm bathroom was colder than the rest of the building, as per usual. But it was grayer, more bleak and unwelcoming today to Emma than ever.

Checking to make sure she was the only one present, she opened the stall on the farthest to the left, far away from the door to the hallway. Sitting on the toilet seat, she removed the cardboard box from under her shirt and stared at it for a moment.

How could it have possibly have come to this? One time, it was one time.

But then again, all it took was one time.

She ripped the flimsy cardboard flaps that covered the end of the box and took out the little stick of doom, purple on one end and white on the other.

"Well," she muttered to herself, "here goes nothing."

She stood up, lifted the toilet seat up, and shoved her pants down. The extra-large Pepsi she had drunk earlier was serving its purpose, and before her mind could really catch up to what she was doing, her body was doing it on autopilot. All those drug tests and medical exams she had to take in order to secure her housing had apparently made their impression on her.

Leaving the stall, she held the test in one hand and its container in the other. Before crumbling up the box, Emma read the directions, which said that a two to three minute wait would yield results. Too long a time, she thought as she wrapped it in paper towels and threw it in the trashcan. No one could know that she was going through a scare like this, not that they would particularly care.

She couldn't pace around the bathroom. It would be too nerve-wracking, especially with nobody to soothe her overactive imagination. The last time she was this nervous was when she was waiting for her driver's license results. At least then, her father had seen the horror in her eyes, the possibility of failing all too present in her expression. He had sat down on the hard plastic chair next to her and took her hand in his. Her knee was jiggling with nerves, but she rested her head against his shoulder. In response, he had given her hand a gentle squeeze.

That time, she recalled now, was met with a positive answer.

This time, she was hoping for the opposite.

A shower. That was the solution. A long, hot shower would take her mind off of this… this mess before her, at least for the time being. Sure, showering would make the wait longer than necessary, but maybe if she pushed the inevitable off enough, it would just become a dream, not a reality.

Putting the stick in her front pocket (Which end in her jeans? she debated. The half she peed on or the half that held her future?), she took a quick jaunt a couple doors down, grabbed her shower caddy and towel, and returned to the bathroom. Instead of going for a bathroom stall, she strayed behind the door to the room, to the shower stall no one used because it was behind the door. It also had a tendency to clog up, but Emma could have cared less. As long as she got to shampoo her hair and shave her legs, the stall could've been filled with piranhas.

She reached for the knobs, turning the one labeled hot all the way on while turning the cold one only a smidge.

The immenient threat of tears had her stripped of her clothes and into the Jetstream in record time. Once in the flow of water, she couldn't tell the difference between the tears streaming down her face and the pellets of water hitting her from the shower head. She crouched down, palms to her face, letting the entire jet stream consume her shrunken form. This was pitiful. She was standing naked in the shower of her university's dorm wondering whether or not she was pregnant.

Involuntary sobs wracked her body, rendering her idea of procrastination useless. Nothing would get done if she couldn't even stand up. Realizing that, she screwed up enough energy to step out of the shower, forgetting to turn the mechanism itself off.

Emma took a seat on the small bench just outside the shower, throwing her towel over her shoulders. It didn't cover the majority of her soaked body, but it kept her sopping hair from making her even colder. She shuddered, from the circumstances or the temperature or both, she couldn't tell.

For ten minutes, she sat there crying, knees curled up so her forehead rested on them, eyes closed to avoid seeing her stomach, water still shooting out of the shower. The sounds of her sobs filled the bathroom with nothing but the streams hitting the shower floor to back them up. Inside her head, though, there was a full-on argument.

_Just look at the test_, she thought. _Then, you'll have an answer and move on with your life._

_I can't_, the other part of her conscience said. _I just can't._

_You're making yourself miserable. Get it over with. It's more than ready for you now._

_No…no, how could this have happened to me?_

_Nothing might have happened to you, but you'll never know until you look at the test!_

_I can't do it._

_Yes, you can._

_No, I can't._

_JUST DO IT FOR FUCK'S SAKE._

The gradually escalating internal debacle prevented Emma from hearing the creaking the door to the hallway always made when it was opened. So, naturally, when she heard a hesitant knocking on the shower stall door, she jumped.

"There's someone in here," she stammered hoarsely, unsuccessfully trying to hide her tears.

"I know," a low voice replied. "The water's been running for a half hour, lass. That's why I'm here."

Rubbing her hands across her face, Emma's curiosity got the better of her. Still unstable with shivers, she turned the knobs of the shower, finally cutting the steady streams of water off. The silence in the bathroom was heavy, but the situation was quickly remedied when by her shuffling to correctly wrap her towel around herself and the groan the shower door made when she finally opened it.

The person standing on the other side looked expectantly at her when she gasped. "You shouldn't be in here," she stated, looking behind him and around the room to see if anyone else was going to call him out on it.

"Yes, but you shouldn't leave the shower on," Killian responded smartly. "It's, you know, not green and whatnot."

Her search complete and realizing they were alone, another thought crossed her mind. "What are you doing here?"

What was he doing there? Sure, they lived down the hall from one another, but he and Emma never really had cause to interact with each other. She kept to herself in her room and her roommate Ruby was usually the only person she saw on a daily basis. Killian Jones was always busy being asshole-ish his teammates on the school's boxing team: out every night to drink until the stars saw the sun; conked out every day to recuperate for the next evening's festivities; and, every blue moon or so, actually going to classes, but only if nothing fun was happening that night. Oh, and practice. He wasn't nicknamed "The Hook" because of his affinity for coat hangers or his ability to fish, although she was sure that they both had merit.

No, Emma had seen the YouTube videos all the girls on her floor, in her building, on the entire campus fawned over at least once a week. The guy had an awfully respectable left hook, thus earning his famous moniker. He had a bunch of awards from high school and was already well on his way to doing the same here at their university. Factor in his Irish lilt and his striking features and he had every straight female and gay male throwing themselves at him.

"I wanted to make sure you hadn't drowned or been brutally murdered," he explained. He tilted his head to the side, as if he was just now realizing that her eyes were puffy, her hair wet, and her body enveloped in a towel. "Lass, what's the matter?" he asked quietly.

Emma sniffed. "Look, thanks for keeping an eye out for the planet and everything, but I don't need anyone to keep an eye out for me. It's none of your business." She went to slam the door in his face, but was met with resistance. His hand infamous for its punch halted the door in its path to smash his nose in.

"Now, now there, dear," he calmly soothed her. "I don't mean to pry—"

"That's exactly what you're doing," she interrupted.

An audacious small grin spread across Killian's face. She was a sassy one. He continued, "But I can safely say that enchanting girls like you don't spend their free time weeping in the shower stalls unless something is the matter." He invited himself into the small stall, careful not to brush up against Emma in case she lost her hold on her towel, and took a seat on the tiny bench.

Who did he think he was? Killian Jones might have been able to charm the pants off any given girl on this campus, but she was not interested in the least. Especially in her possibly precarious condition.

_If you'd look at the fucking stick, you'd know whether or not it was precarious_, that internal voice grumbled.

_Shut up_, the other one retorted.

He watched her expectantly, then patted the small space next to him. She frustratedly sighed, but heeded his suggestion. Pulling her the edges of her towel close enough to nearly suffocate her, she rearranged herself until she sat as comfortably as she could next to the boxer. She crossed her heels and squeezed her thighs shut. Loose legs like that had already gotten her in trouble.

_Or maybe not._

_Or maybe so._

Killian hesitantly patted her knee. "Go ahead, love. Lay your troubles out for an open ear," he insisted. He was really too close for her to be comfortable, but it didn't bother her as much as it should have. It was…nice.

Huh, she thought.

Leaning her head back against the stall wall, she closed her eyes and opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water. The tears she had managed to suppress since the interaction had started began to sting behind her eyelids. Unconsciously, they started silently sliding down her cheeks.

He was taken aback. Sure, he was prepared for a talkative story that he could care less about, but tears? Weeping? Sobbing? Nope, he had not signed up for this.

But she was inaudible. The waterworks kept coming, getting steadier and steadier, but she didn't make a sound.

It broke his heart. He wasn't quite sure why, but it did.

"Lass, hey," he murmured. "Shhh, it's okay, you're okay." He kept comforting her as he turned his body as much as possible to embrace her. It was awkward, for sure, his one arm around her back while the other laid across her thighs, avoiding the bottom of her towel. He rubbed his hand up and down her arm, hoping that the slow friction would calm her. Emma leaned her head, moving it from the wall to his shoulder. She mumbled something unintelligible into his neck.

"I know it might be rough, love, but I'm going to kindly request that you repeat yourself," he quietly ordered.

She took a quivering breath and gulped, "I don't think I am."

"Tell me," he whispered reassuringly. "Let me help you bear your cross, Emma."

The remainder of her composure crumbled at her own name. She started bawling, ugly snotty sounds coming from her nose, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. And Killian just held her, caressing her back and trying to placate her, but never saying a word. She just had to get it all out of her system. It was how his mother had always soothed him when he'd had his heart broken or had his fair share of troubles: a literal shoulder to cry on. And when he was ready to talk, gotten all the tears from their ducts, she had been there.

That's what he would do for Emma. He would be there.

**A/N: there is a second part that I will upload when I have time which, due to family celebrations and whatnot, I don't have now. but I hope you liked this part :) byeee**


	2. Chapter 2

Twenty minutes later, Emma was in dire need of water. All the tears she had shed that afternoon had dehydrated her more than she originally thought. She sniffled and snuffled a couple more times before raising her head from Killian's shoulder. He had surprised her by not running away and staying in the cramped stall the entire time, ceaselessly comforting her in some way or another.

Meeting his gaze, she smiled sadly. He responded in turn with an equally small smile.

"Tuckered out now?" he asked softly. She nodded. "Figured."

He began to loosen his grip on her, removing his arm from her thighs and sliding his arm around her shoulders back towards his body, but she placed her arm on the one that lay across her thighs to stop him. His eyes shot to the movement quickly, looking to her face to confirm that it was what she wanted. He could understand it: in such a fragile state, human contact was the best remedy.

Killian stayed quiet, waiting for her to gather her thoughts and start her story. Emma closed her eyes once more, inhaling deeply while he pushed the errant strands of damp hair away from her face. A gesture like that would usually have bothered her, been too familiar for someone as unfamiliar as him, but he had just coached her through the biggest breakdown of her life. Sy-he reckoned they were on that level.

"I'm scared," she admitted. "I am unbelievably, truly afraid."

A moment passed. When she didn't continue, he nudged her on.

"I think I'm pregnant."

To his credit, his eyes only widened a fraction and his jaw didn't drop to the ground. "How?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "I got a letter from the stork," she said sarcastically. "Did they not teach you where babies come from at home?"

Killian chuckled. "I probably dozed off during that class," he joked. "But you know that's not what I meant."

She sighed and reluctantly carried on. "I may or may not have hooked up with the boy's RA once…" she paused and winced, "or twice…" she winced again, "or more."

Comprehension dawned on his face, followed swiftly by confusion and dread.

"Neal? You mean Neal?" She nodded. He looked at the opposite wall for an instant, then focused his attention back to her. "Are you sure?"

Emma didn't respond at first, but then grabbed her jeans and shook her head. "I took a test about forty-five minutes ago and you're supposed to only have to wait two or three minutes for the results, but I couldn't stand that wait, so I made the really smart decision to drag it out for as long as possible and decided to take a shower, but then I had a meltdown and…" she finally took a breath, her entire body deflating, "now we're here." She shifted a little in order to better accommodate her change in position, causing Killian to modify his as well.

"So you haven't seen the results?" he asked lightly. She shook her head once more. "Would you think it rude if I inquired as to why?"

"I just told you," she exasperatedly said. "I'm afraid. I'm only seventeen, a freshman at a prestigious school. If some bigwig finds out I'm pregnant, I'll lose my housing for sure. Probably my classes and grades as well. Not to mention I'd have to deal with my parents." She was beginning to lose her cool, her voice becoming higher and a tad louder with every passing sentence. Her eyes look straight into his. "My parents still think I'm a virgin, and that I'm not stupid enough to not use a condom. And, I mean, we did use one the first couple of times, but then he ran out or something, some excuse, the last time, so we didn't. Oh my god." Facepalm. "I'm going to have to tell Neal. Oh my god, oh for fuck's sake, I'm going to have to tell Neal and he's not going to want to deal with me anymore, I just know it. He'll send me on my way, kick me out of the dorm, and they'll believe him because it's his third year as an RA, he's a senior, he's got a practically perfect score sheet."

Tears threatened to appear again, and she was beginning to hyperventilate.

"Head between your knees." Killian coax her into that position, stroking her back and shushing her as she breathed, in out, in out, until her breaths became even once more. A strong handle on the top of her towel, she whipped back to a regular seated position, nearly smacking him in the face with her hair.

"What am I going to do?" she whimpered. He curled his arm around her shoulders again and took the jeans she still held into his possession. Pulling her close, he squeezed her knee reassuringly.

"You, love, are going to take this one step at a time." He felt around in her pockets and found the shape of the pregnancy test outlined in one of the front ones. "First, you're going to find out if you've been fretting over nothing. And then, if you are pregnant, you're going to call your parents and tell them the entire story just like you did to me." She cringed at the idea of doing so; her mother would use her signature disappointed tone and her father would seethe at the ruined image of his perfect little girl. Although, now that she reflected on it, he'd probably believe it was all Neal's doing, and would proceed to strangle him.

She could be behind that plan.

"And after your parents know, you're going to call the health center to set up an appointment to check and be absolutely, one hundred percent sure," Killian's voice broke her out of her own mind. "The rest of the cards will fall as they may." He pulled her shoulders even closer to him in a sort of half hug, which was really awkward to both do and experience in a shower stall. He retreated as much as he could before removing his touch. The loss was surprisingly unwelcome, but the sight of Killian digging into her pocket was more unsettling.

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded. The expression on his face seemed like his actions were completely innocent.

"You don't want to look at the test," he stated, blatancy in his tone, "so I was going to look for you."

Emma was flabbergasted to say the least. Sure, she had been procrastinating at finding out the results that could possibly change her life forever, but that didn't mean he was welcome to interrupt it.

"Uhhh, sorry bud, but no," she stated. A curious countenance came over her facial features. "And who do you think you are, waltzing into the girl's bathroom to counsel me? Were you just hoping that I'd see you as such a gentleman, helping out the damsel in distress, and swoon when you noticed me?" she challenged. Pointing an accusatory finger at him, she growled "I bet you just wanted to get in my pants." Her eyes filled with shock, and she glanced down at her current state of dress. "Jesus, I'm in a fucking towel!" she yelled.

Killian snickered. "I do believe I had that same observation earlier in this conversation."

As menacingly as possible, she stood and snarled, "Get out." He stood as well, more slowly and kindly than she had.

"I came in here because I couldn't bear to hear you in such distress, Emma," he confessed completely straight-faced. "I know we haven't really had much interaction since we got here, but I wanted you to know that I have been keeping an eye on you." He simply shrugged. "You're different than everyone else here. A good different," he clarified when he saw the anger rising on her face. "I just couldn't find the right time to tell you."

She was deeply touched. No one had been that honest with her ever, not even her parents. Of course, now she was beginning to feel the tendrils of regret seep into her mind. He had honestly just wanted to help her _because _he was a gentleman.

He shuffled past her and out the door of the stall, still holding her pants. She cleared her throat, drawing his attention back to her. He glanced down at her jeans in his hands, then straight into her eyes and soul.

"I know I may come off as a cad at first, but I always put those important in my life first," he said calmly. "You know where I am if you need me. There will always be time for you, lass." He glimpsed down at her jeans before handing them back to her.

She took them from him, all her previous anger draining her body after an already exhausting hour or so. She took in his face once more, adorn with a small smile, but his eyes were trained on her jeans. She followed it to the test sticking out of her front pocket, results side out.

Two lines.

Positive.

And he knew.

Emma felt like she should have been emotional, but there was nothing left for her to give. Her jaw dropped just a little further down than normal.

_Told you_, the stupidly correct inner voice grumbled.

A creak broke her focus. When she looked up, Killian was gone and the door thunked to a close. She didn't even hesitant a full second. Grabbing her shower caddy and clothes, she hurried out of the bathroom after him, towel getup and all.

He knew, and he didn't rescind his offer to help. That was somewhere to start.

**a/n: sorry it took so long to post this. hope you enjoyed it :) if you would be so kind to leave a review or a comment, i would love you forever. have a wonderful week :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**a/n: um, hello. so, funny story. i originally wrote this as a two-shot. so, you've technically written everything i meant to write. however, a lot of people signed up for alerts and commented on how they 'cant wait for the next chapter.' i reread what i had and it did kind of leave yall hanging (sorry). and, since my original long story idea for the summer has kind of fizzled for the moment, i dont see why i shouldnt continue this.**

**that being said, ive written this chapter and im writing the next (which has actually has Killian in it), but thats it. i have no idea where to go with this story. i dont know how far you guys want me to go with it, i dont know how far i want to go with it. i just dont know. if youve got any ideas or bolts of inspiration, feel free to let me know. or if you just wanna talk. im always open for that too. **

**also worth mentioning that this story is vaguely looked over by my roommate, but merely for glaringly obvious things. so like 45% beta-ed, but very spellchecked and self-edited.  
**

**sorry this is kind of a long one, but it needed to be said. enjoy this portion of the story :)**

_Clothes. You need to put on clothes before anything else_, she thought, stopping in the middle of the empty dorm hallway.

_He's seen you in a towel_, a more reasonable voice said.

Emma just shook her head, clearing away any and all thoughts that didn't propel her forward. Yes, she had just confirmed that she was pregnant and, yes, the douchecanoe from down the hall found out before she did, but she had enough sense at the moment to know it would be better to be semi-presentable when she went to confront him about it.

_And maybe ask him for help?_

She turned around and headed back to her room, her shower shoes squeaking on the linoleum floor. Her room's door was thrown wide open, saving Emma the hassle of digging through her caddy for her key. Ruby had apparently just arrived back from class. She still wore her stiletto boots and leather jacket, but she was sprawled on her bed with her nose to her phone.

_Normal. Everything is normal_. "How'd your presentation go?" she casually asked, putting her shower things in their home and shutting the door.

Preceded by a dramatic sigh, Ruby launched into a tale about her communications professor, who was either out to get her or out to get in her pants. It always seemed to be one or the other and oftentimes ended up being both. Ruby was just one of _those_ girls: she was gorgeous, with flowing dark hair and legs that lasted miles, a laugh that enchanted listeners and sexual prowess to rival all others. She wasn't raised by "perfect parents" and didn't get to "skate her way through life," points she brought up during every real argument they'd ever had. But they somehow managed to even each other out.

At first, they hadn't really gotten along, merely greeting each other in the mornings before one left for class and bidding each other a friendly goodnight when they shut the lights off at night. They were cordial, and Emma was thankful enough for that.

Offhandedly, Emma heard a lull in her roommate's story and glanced over to see what the hold-up was (the sooner she finished her story, the sooner Emma could leave and deal with her… problem). Ruby was steadying herself, taking deep, calming breaths and not looking at anything but her phone. She choked out the name 'Peter,' which made Emma nod her head in comprehension as Ruby continued her tale.

The night after the homecoming football game transformed their relationship into what they shared today. Ruby had barged in at ten of three in the morning, drunk, out of breath, and crying. She was fumbling around the room, obviously searching for something. She'd stumbled over to Emma's nightstand, grabbed Emma's phone, and went into the hallway to call someone. She returned a few minutes later, still crying and a little less out of breath.

Unable to sleep with the decibel of noise, Emma had gotten up to chastise her roommate. In the end, she had ended up comforting her until the sun's rays crested over the horizon. Apparently (and to this day, Emma was still a little bit hazy about the events of that night), Ruby had been walking back from a frat party with her on-again-off-again boyfriend, Peter, when they'd been attacked. He had yelled for her to drop her purse and run. So, she did. Just as she was turning the corner, she heard a gunshot.

Then another.

Ruby kept running, afraid that her attackers would follow. The call she'd made on Emma's phone was to the police, seeing as her phone was in the purse she'd dropped. The next morning, the police knocked on their door and Ruby just_ knew_. She'd answered the door, running mascara and all, to give her statement and to hear what she simply knew had happened. And when that was done, Emma had offered to leave her for some reflection time, but Ruby had begged her to stay.

"Please, Emma," she had beseeched quietly, tired tears racing down her cheeks. "Please, I can't be alone. I know you probably won't like me after this, but something like this…something this hard, I can't go through it alone. It'll be so much harder if…"

Emma recollected hurrying to sit next to her roommate and wrapping her arm over her shoulder. "I'll be here as long as you need me, Ruby," she had soothed her. The brunette leaned her head on Emma's shoulder and began to sob softly. Rubbing her arm, Emma had said, "Don't worry, you're not alone. I'm here. You aren't alone."

_I'm here. You aren't alone._

_There will always be time for you, lass._

Seeing her roommate as someone other than the drunken partygirl had really brought them together. Emma slowly opened up to her to the point where she considered them (a) even in amount of blackmail and sensitive information known and (b) best friends.

Watching her roommate go through such a tragedy had Emma thanking her stars every day that, regardless of Ruby's teasing, she lived such a blissful life: her parents loved each other and her, she'd been well-educated, with a roof over her head and food in her stomach.

She sighed internally. Her luck had to run out at _some_ point.

Emma's head was in an entirely different place at the moment, but all her roommate's daily stories followed the same pattern, so she 'mhmm'-ed and nodded her head in all the right places. She rifled through her drawers to find something to wear for her mission at hand.

_Are you really worried about your clothes right now? Really, is that what you're going with?_

_Shut up._

"Why are you in such a hurry?"

Ruby's question brought her back to reality. "Hmm?" was her benign reply. She grabbed the first somewhat matching clothes she could find and slammed the drawers shut with her toweled hip. Her roommate, sometime during her narrative, had shifted so she sat the edge of the mattress. Concern weighed heavily on her features and her phone, her lifeline, lay haphazardly thrown across the bed.

"I just need to," Emma started, clasping her bra on over her towel. She didn't really want to get into this now. Sure, she was a very talented secret keeper, but she had such a good relationship with Ruby that, sometimes, things just kind of slipped out without her permission. Especially when she was stressed.

Like now.

"…talk to someone."

"Ooohh," Ruby crooned, the worry disappearing from her face as she felt around the sheets for her phone. "Who?"

"Doesn't really matter," she muttered, pulling her underwear on beneath her towel. She dropped the towel and went about pulling on the leggings she unburied from her drawers.

"Oh, come on Emma!" Ruby pleaded. "You tell me everything!"

"I tell you what you need to know," Emma said through the fabric of her dress. When her head popped out the top, she added with a pointed finger, "and right now, you don't need to know."

"Fine," Ruby conceded grumpily. She typed something into her phone and Emma thought the conversation over. She gathered her keys and stood barefoot on the threshold of their room when Ruby added, "But, we're still going to watch practice after dinner."

_Great_, she thought, craning her neck to the ceiling and closing her eyes. _Of course._ In light of recent developments, she'd forgotten it was Tuesday and, as per every Tuesday since they became friends, Ruby insisted Emma accompany her in her weekly ritual of watching the boxers' fights and practices. _Just icing on the cake of a perfect day_.

She sighed heavily. "I'm not feeling up to it today, Ruby."

"Nope," Ruby said matter-of-factly. "Not a valid answer. You're coming." Emma turned around and gave her roommate a pained look. Ruby relented and set her phone down. "You promised. Besides," a predatory smile spread across her face, "I heard through the grapevine that Victor and Hook were today's soup du jour."

Emma groaned and softly hit her head against the door frame. _Of course he's the main attraction, today of all days._

"Practice starts at 7, and I want to grab something to eat beforehand," Ruby declared, settling against her pillows and, once again, focusing on her phone screen. "Now, go have your talk."

Grumbling some sarcastic gratitude, Emma crossed into the empty hallway and finally made her way down to Killian's room.


	4. Chapter 4

"Did you call them yet, Swan?" was Killian's greeting when he opened the door to his room. He let it swing and ricochet off the wall while he sauntered away. Emma placed her hand on the rebounding wood so it wouldn't hit her in the face.

"Excuse me?" she asked, entering slowly and observing her surroundings. For a college athlete's room, it was relatively neat. The furniture was arranged differently than in her room: one of the beds was bunked, standing on stilts over the head of the other bed. The desks were pressed up against opposing walls in order to make room for the shabby couch between them. There were two or three mounds of dirty laundry about the room, shoes and notebooks littered the floor, and posters or photographs covered every inch of the ugly concrete walls.

For a college dormitory, it was surprisingly homey.

"Your parents," he clarified, climbing the ladder to sit on what she assumed was his bed. "Did you call your parents?"

Emma hesitated before stepping further into the room and shaking her head. "No, my roommate was there."

"And you don't want her to know yet?" he assumed.

"No. I mean," she corrected herself, "yes, I don't want her to know. Yet."

Killian hummed in understanding, then looked at her standing awkwardly just inside his room. He crawled to the edge of his bed so he could stick his head toward her. "I know this is a lot to take in, lass, but I'm not a monster." When he registered the confusion on her face, he conspiratorially stage-whispered, "You can take a seat wherever you can find one."

As he went back to whatever was on his laptop, Emma silently nodded and wandered over to the couch. She sat down between a pair of boxing gloves and a pile of textbooks. Noting the titles, Emma deduced that either Killian or his roommate was some sort of environmental science major.

"What did you call me?" she asked out of the blue.

Killian looked to her. His eyebrow arched up, and Emma felt hers furrow. It was startling, the contrast between his barely-different expressions. If someone were to walk past him on the street, they'd stop and stare at just how handsome was. Slide up his brow and necks would crack and break to gape after him. He was dashing and devilish and completely catching her off guard.

And distracting her from the confusing nudge poking at her brain.

"I didn't call you anything," he responded. "I graciously informed you that you were free to sit where you wished."

Emma shook her head. "No, no, not just now. When I walked in. What did you call me?"

He laughed, a hearty sound that chased away the subtle coolness that had been seeping into her bones since she slipped into the dank bathroom. "Swan," he managed to answer. "I called you Swan."

"And why exactly did you call me that?"

Shrugging his shoulders, he admitted, "I'm not quite sure. It just kind of rolled off my tongue." He met her gaze again. _He's got gorgeous blue eyes_, she thought to herself. "Would you mind if I called you that?"

Taken aback by his question, she shook her head. Her singular nickname, the uber original 'Em,' was sort of bestowed on her at birth. She'd never gotten to choose what she'd be called. Never got the chance to reinvent herself when she entered high school or university life as a freshman.

But this guy, whom she'd know for all of an hour, had gone and done it for her. It wasn't like she had a problem with the nickname. She liked it, in fact. She was honestly just curious as to why, of all the words in the English language, he'd chosen Swan. He had a point: it did sound better than Em or her surname Nolan. And, if anything else, at least it had a charming image connected to it.

"Not at all," she said quickly, realizing that he was still waiting for an answer.

"Good," was his reply. "I like swans. They're kind of overrated, but for such beautiful and exotic creatures, they don't get nearly as much publicity as ducks or geese."

Ignoring the indirect compliments hidden beneath his explanation, Emma motioned to the textbooks at her side and speculated. "So is it safe to assume these books are yours?"

Killian chuckled. "Those are actually my roommate Robby's. He's got a kink for the woods. Wants to 'save the rainforest' or whatever. Hardly shuts up about it." He hung his neck over the brink of his bed again to enrich his point. "If you're out in the forest one weekend and you hear moaning, it's probably him and his girlfriend doing it in a tent."

That made Emma crack up for some reason. Both his brows raised at the sound of her tinkling giggle. "You laugh, but it happens more often than you'd think," he explained.

"What, the interruptions or the actual act?"

"Both."

Laughter washed over her anew. It wasn't that funny, she was completely aware of that. But she was a kid, she reasoned with herself. This is what she should be doing all the time, not wallowing in uncertainty. Too much had been going on in the past couple hours and she curled up on herself, stretching her abdominal muscles in an unusual fashion. It felt good. It felt _right_.

_They'll be stretching in a much different way in due time, _that nagging voice reminded her.

That sobered her up quite quickly and reminded her of the reason she was there. Emma cleared her throat and sniffed. "That's a tad unnerving."

"Not so much, lass, as the current predicament you find yourself in." Sensing the change in energy in the room, Killian crawled to the foot of this bed and shimmied down the ladder. She couldn't help watching his arm muscles move underneath his skin as he climbed.

_No, you are not checking out his fabulous boxing body. He's got practice tonight. You're merely spotting him and making sure he doesn't fall._

_From your seat on the couch halfway across the room?_

He strolled over to the couch and, brushing the gloves from their perch, plopped down next to her. His arm easily slid over the back of the couch, his fingers mere inches from her shoulder, as his right ankle came to rest upon his left knee casually. "What brings you down to my end of the hallway?"

A little surprised by his presence, (_it's his room, remember?_) it took Emma a moment to comprehend his question. And, after the neurons had fired, it took her yet another moment still to ponder why she actually _was_ here in his room.

"I'm not quite sure," she confessed quietly. She looked down at her clasped fingers shamefully.

The fabric of the couch, whatever it was, made a soft sound when he scooted closer to her, a shuffling not unlike the sheets of her bed at home made whenever someone moved on them. She hazarded a look at Killian mid-movement and was surprised by the caution with which he approached her.

"Do you mind?" he asked calmly. She shook her head solemnly. It's not like this could turn into any sort of shenanigans that could end poorly. She was already pregnant and he was the only other one who knew. Frankly, Emma could have used the small amount of compassion he was offering. Or even the restraint he was exhibiting, although it was a little late for that.

Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, Killian whispered, "I think you're here because you're scared." Emma opened her mouth to protest, but he squeezed her body into his. "Ah ah, you've already said so, don't try and deny it." After gradually closing her mouth, he smirked. "You're scared and you know instinctively know I was telling the truth when I said I would help you. And right now you need someone to help you through phoning your parents, something that I am more than willing to accomplish."

"Actually," Emma corrected him, remembering her original intent in visiting him, "I came down here to punch you for looking at the test before me." He chuckled and let his grip go. She sighed and reluctantly said, "But, you aren't necessarily _wrong_ about the other things either."

He smiled and tapped the tip of her nose. "You're an open book, my lovely Swan, and I am quite the reader."

Ignoring the warmth that spread through her at her new nickname and the fact that he just booped her nose, Emma focused on her growing nerves. "Are you sure I should call them now?" Killian nodded sagely. "But what if it was a false positive?" she suggested. "That happens, right?"

"Regardless, you'll feel more relieved if you inform them sooner."

She groaned. "Why am I listening to you?" she asked aloud, more for herself than anyone else. Her head fell into her open palms and she rubbed them up and down her face in a feeble attempt to combat the headache she felt slowly building behind her forehead.

"Because you know I'm right."

"Yes, that may be true," Emma said hesitantly, searching for any sort of excuse to further procrastinate telling her parents of her indiscretions. She found one and, while it was rather weak, it would suffice for now. Raising her head, she said, "But we just met, like, an hour, maybe two, ago. Remember? You barged into the girls' bathroom and made some snide remark about saving the planet and turning off the water?" When Killian didn't say anything, she exasperatedly added, "Ringing any bells here?"

"Plenty," he replied in earnest. He leaned closer, his nose centimeters from touching hers. Emma felt heat scattered across her cheeks, reddening them to an embarrassing shade of pink. "You're listening to me, not only because of my suave charm, but because you inherently trust me. You know that I'm here to help, not to hurt-"

"Yeah, sure," Emma scoffed in interruption. _Too similar, too similar, don't fall for it_. "Bet that's what you say to all your conquests."

"No," Killian said, looking what she couldn't have described as anything other than hurt. "I save it for the special ones…" And then, as almost an afterthought, he mumbled bashfully, "Like you."

Before she could even begin to process what that meant falling from _his_ lips, her phone chimed. She dug it out of dress pocket (_IT HAD POCKETS_) to see what the commotion was. It was a text from Ruby, asking her where she was and if her 'talk' (the quotes were actually included in the message) was done yet.

_Why does she always assume I'm having sex with some mysterious stranger?_ she asked herself.

Just as she pressed on the lock button, she caught a glance at the time. "Shit, it's six."

"So?"

"So, I've got to go eat with my roommate before she drags me to…" Nope. No, she was not telling him that she and her roommate regularly watched him in his area of expertise. They were not on that level. Granted, it was kind of a moot point now, but she still had some dignity. "Don't you have practice?" she asked in hopes of distracting him.

"Yeah, so?"

"So? What do you mean, 'So'?"

"I told you," he said. "I put the important people in my life first." Killian faltered for a moment, contemplating something. Emma saw the resolve flood his eyes mere seconds before he grabbed her hands, cradling them in his one. "Everything else can wait."

Drawing her hands back, Emma acted appreciative. "Look, this really isn't any of your busin-"

"Emma," he impressed upon her as he stood from the couch. "I made this my business when I set foot in the girls' bathroom. Now, I'm going to go tell your roommate you'll be with her momentarily while you call your parents."

"But," she started, watching him collect his practice bag and snatch up his gloves from the floor. "What do I say?"

"Tell them the truth, love," he told her. He back up toward his cracked door, never breaking eye contact with her. "Say you took a test, but you're going to the infirmary within the week for confirmation. They obviously love you enormously if you're so concerned about telling them. And if they talk too long, tell them you've got school stuff to do and you'll call them back after you see the physician."

"Okay," Emma breathed. "Okay, I think I can do that."

"You can," he assured her. With a wink, he turned to the hallway and waved over his shoulder. "I'll see you in the stands, Swan."

"Yeah," she nodded absentmindedly. And then his goodbye fully registered with her. "Wait!" she exclaimed. He stopped on the threshold and tilted his head to face her. "How did…" she trailed off.

Gloves in hand and pack over his shoulder, Killian hung on the door frame wearing a smirk that floored her.

"It's Tuesday."

_That bastard._

**a/n: sorry this took longer than i expected. my roommate slash editor recently transferred to a timezone half a day ahead of me, so that's been fun to figure out. however, i've got the next part (which i guess i could call chapter, but im lazy) fully written and in her possession. i should hopefully have it up within the week. also, how'd the whole 'Swan' nickname thing come out? that's the part i was worried most about this chapter. hey look, i called it a chapter!**

**as always, thoughts and comments appreciated. hope you're enjoying the story as much as i'm enjoying writing it and have a lovely week :)**


	5. Chapter 5

Pacing was a nervous habit of hers, something she'd inherited from her slightly fretful mother, brought on by only the most nerve-wracking of situations. When Killian left her alone in his room with her thoughts and a mission, the first thing Emma did was stand up.

The second thing she did was wear a preliminary path between the closets and the foot of Robby's bed.

The third thing she did was punch in her home phone number before she could think twice, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. Yet another tic she'd inherited from her mother.

"Please don't pick up, please don't pick up," she quietly chanted, trying to calm her heartbeat with the steady repetition, the monotone rings, and her shaky steps. It was Tuesday, and her mother was almost definitely home from the school she taught at. Her father was probably still at the station, trying to persuade his deputies that they didn't need to be in after five unless there was an emergency.

But there was the off chance that they decided to go out for dinner, or that they'd be out visiting friends, playing Bridge or whatever. Maybe they were having date night at the movies. Her father had mentioned something about trying to have weekly date nights when she was home last. Maybe they'd be doing something, _anything_, to keep them from answering her call.

She'd probably get the answering machine. Hopefully.

It's not that she didn't love her parents. Quite the opposite, in fact: as the only child of Mary Margaret and David Nolan, Emma had been nothing but loved and cherished for her entire life. Sure, they'd been a bit overprotective, but that was only natural. And they had only allowed her to attend this university, the furthest and most expensive one Emma had applied to, with the promise of good grades and an 'all-American college experience.' She just didn't want to disappoint them with life-altering news like this.

_Little bit too much of that 'college experience.'_

The phone rung for the fourth time. _One more time_, she thought. _One more ring and the machine picks up automatically. One more ring and I'm okay for now._

But, of course, fate didn't really wait for 'one more' of anything.

"Hello, Nolan residence, Mary Margaret speaking." Her mother's voice was its usual cheerful tone, and despite the slight sweat and rapidly beating heart Emma was nursing, she couldn't help but calm a bit at the sound of her mother's voice. It had comforted and cared for her throughout her life, making her laugh and consoling her tears. Her mother's voice provided Emma with a sense of home she could never attain anywhere else.

That feeling washed over her now, causing her to take a deep breath and respond before the woman on the other end mistook this for a prank call.

"Hi Mom," she greeted her with a gravelly voice. Emma cleared her throat and continued with "How's it going?"

"Oh Emma baby," Mary Margaret squealed. Emma silently winced at the endearment. It's not like her mom knew her current condition. "How are you, sweetie? Is everything okay? Hold on a second…"

Emma heard some racket on the other end of the line and faintly heard her mother yell through the apartment for her father, and even more faintly his response.

"Your father's busy moving the laundry around, but he says hello," her mother told her. "I'm just making some dinner. I was thinking tacos, but I don't think I have enough tomatoes…"

"Mom," Emma interrupted her. Mary Margaret made a sort of humming noise on the other end. "Mom, I know when I usually call, it's just to chat, and I would love to hear tonight's menu, but I've got to meet up with Ruby soon and I just need to tell you and Dad something."

"Oh," Mary Margaret said, disappointment clear in her tone. "Okay. Let me just get your father and I'll put you on speaker." Emma heard the clack of the receiver to the kitchen counter. _Just tell them. Get it over with. Like a Band-Aid. Then you can forget about it for a couple hours, be a normal college girl. _

She took her bottom lip in between her fingers and began rolling it between them. Her legs were beginning to ache from pacing so fervently. She took the short pause to stop her tracks, pulling one knee up to her chest, then the other, trying to get the blood moving a little more.

Another noise on the line started her pacing again, a little less agitatedly now.

"Hey, princess," her father's strong voice said. A weight she didn't know she was carrying lifted from her shoulders. _They love you. It'll all be okay._ "Your mother said you wanted to tell us something."

_Like a Band-Aid_. "Yeah, put me on speaker phone."

Some more rattling ensued before her father asked, "…What's this about, Emma?"

_Like a Band-Aid_. "I think I'm pregnant."

Pure silence.

_Get it out, get it out, like a Band-Aid, like a Band-Aid. _"I know you're really disappointed in me. I'm disappointed in myself. My period was late and I took one of those pee-stick tests you get at the drugstore today and it came out positive, but they almost always give off false positive results, so I'm going down to the health center sometime this week to get a definitive answer."

Still nothing. Her parents had never been this quiet, not even while they slept. She could practically hear the sizzling of something on the stove, taco meat forgotten in the wake of the news. Emma pulled her phone away from her ear, checking to see if the call had been lost or her parents had hung up.

She also caught a glimpse at the time. "Look, I've got to go. I just thought you should know." She gulped. "I wanted you to know. I wish I could talk longer, but Ruby's waiting for me. I'll call you when I know for sure," she hurriedly finished. "I love you both so much, and I'm so sorry…Bye."

As she hung up, Emma let out a breath of relief. She collapsed to the floor of Killian's room and just laid there for a second, gathering her wits.

_That phone call could've gone a lot worse._

_Sure._

It'd been close to three hours and she still hadn't really recovered. She had managed to drag herself off the carpeted dorm floor and find Ruby. Her roommate had demanded over a disgusting cantine dinner to know every minute detail about Emma's 'talk,' especially after the infamous Hook had come to tell her that "Miss Nolan needs to phone her parents, but will grace you with her presence shortly," as if he wasn't pretentious and alluring enough.

Now, she sat next to the brunette in the higher parts of the gymnasium bleachers, watching Killian and Victor Whale, Ruby's current pursuit, fight it out in the ring. It was their final bout of five, and every once in a while the coach would stop them mid-attack to correct one's stance or point out some detail neither of the girls could see to the remainder of the team (_Was a group of boxers referred to as a team? Or something else, like a parliament of owls or a murder of crows?)_

"I hope they're almost finished," Ruby wished, picking at her nails while the coach took his time helping Victor commit a certain hit to muscle memory. Emma couldn't help but agree with the sentiment. Yes, this was their weekly ritual, but after the novelty of seeing both guys shirtless and glistening with sweat so their muscles were displayed in _just _the right way wore off, it wasn't that interesting.

Moreover, she had other, more important things she could be doing besides sitting here in the nosebleeds. She had papers to write, exercises to complete, exams to study for. Life was moving on and up until the moment some sort of professional told her to stop, Emma was going to keep putting on the charade of an average second-semester college student.

Which, she leveled with herself, did include procrastinating all aforementioned responsibilities.

"They should be," Emma informed Ruby. She heard the loud clap the coach routinely gave to signal the end of practice and glanced down at the ring. "See, look," she pointed, her finger following the helmeted figures from the ring, through the ropes, and to the bags settled on the chairs nearby.

"Finally," Ruby exhaled, standing and grabbing her coat and bag from the empty space next to her. Emma followed suit, hitching her bag over her shoulder and threading her jacket through the strap. She began the tedious hike up the benches to leave the gym, but Ruby grabbed her roommate's hand and tugged her to the end of the row and down the stairs.

"Let's meet Victor."

_Not today._

Internally groaning, Emma whined, "Do we have to?"

Ruby threw her a stern gaze over her shoulder. "You need to be my wingwoman. I've been fantasizing about this guy for the past month and a half. And you, of all people, are going to be there when I meet him so you can reminisce about it during your maid of honor speech at our wedding."

"Maids of honor make speeches?"

"Really, Em." Ruby stopped on the last step and faced her roommate fully, irritation evident in her eyes. "Out of all the things I just said, you have a problem with the speech?"

Emma nervously giggled and shrugged. Ruby rolled her eyes and pulled both of them onto the squeaky gym floor. While Ruby took off toward Victor, Emma hung back and shuffled toward them sluggishly, hoping to avoid the awkward third-wheel situation ahead of her by giving them space.

She vaguely heard the pair introduce themselves and heard some utterance from Ruby's mouth about Victor's guns before a low "Swan" made her jump.

"Jesus," she yelped, turning around. Killian's face was alight with mirth, that stupid smirk on his face. Emma slapped him on his bare shoulder before securing her swinging bag from falling off her shoulder. "Don't do that to me."

"Do what?" he asked innocently. "Say hello to my girl after a grueling practice she so kindly sat through?"

_How bold_. She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "First off, I'm not your girl. We met this afternoon, which you seem to have trouble remembering. Second off, I didn't sit through all this for you." She turned around and gestured to her friend, who seemed to have succeeded in her introduction and was now exchanging numbers with Victor. "I'm here for Ruby."

"Ahh, yes, Miss Lucas," Killian nodded, looking over as his teammate dug his phone from his bag to receive her number. "They'll be good for each other. Strong-minded and a tad too lothario for everyone else."

Emma whirled around and slapped him on the shoulder again. "I resent that," she hissed, eyes flashing to the girl in question. Fire sparked in her irises as she pointed her finger at him in scolding. "You have no clue who Ruby is and what she's been through. Any guy who catches her fancy is the luckiest fucking person alive."

Killian's brows rose in surprise at her outburst. His hands came up in surrender, knowing he'd judged the brunette far more than he should have. "My apologies, dear Swan. I overstepped a line."

"Damn straight," she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest and watching Ruby and Victor talk. Who was this guy, thinking he could assume who a person was based off one interaction? Did his parents ever teach not to judge a book by its cover?

Warmth hit the juncture of her neck and shoulder. She stiffened her muscles and shielded herself for an attack.

_Too close, not again, not again._

"Did you tell her?" Killian whispered in her ear.

The fight left her body as quick as it came. "No," she uttered.

"Probably for the best," he admitted. One of his hands came up to brush back a couple of blonde tresses from her shoulder. Emma rolled her eyes, knowing very well he couldn't see her reaction. "How'd the conversation with your parents go?"

"Well," she hesitated. She granted Ruby and Victor one last glance before slowly spinning around to face Killian. "I kinda dropped the bomb on them and then they didn't say anything. But my mom sent me this." She rifled through her bag and fished out her phone. After she typed in her password, she turned the screen around, allowing him time to just barely read the most recent text from her mother: 'We love you. Call us later.' Dropping her phone in her pocket, Emma finished, "While I was sitting up there."

"And you told them you'd discuss once you knew for sure?"

Before Emma could answer, Ruby skipped up to them. "Discuss what with who?" she asked, her sense of propriety and privacy nonexistent when it came to her best friend's business. It was further evidenced when Ruby threaded her arm through Emma's and leaned her head on her roommate's shoulder.

Emma watched him undergo his transformation at the other woman's appearance with awe. The lightness in his eyes darkened, cerulean seas seeped to dark navy depths. He drew himself up to his full height, towering over her and rivaling Ruby's heeled height. Almost unconsciously, he swiped his thumb across his jaw before resting his hands on his hips. This wasn't Killian Jones: this was the 'Hook' everyone was familiar with, the school's prodigal boxer, the devilishly handsome bachelor. This was the type of guy her parents warned her not to get involved with.

And yet, he was the one privy to her deepest secret. The _only_ one, outside of her parents.

"With whom, love," he corrected her, slyly grinning.

"Fine," Ruby sassily conceded. "With _whom_, Mr. Fancypants?"

Killian chuckled. "We weren't properly introduced earlier. The name's Killian Jones, but most people have taken to calling me by my more colorful moniker-"

"Hook," Ruby ended his thought. "Yeah, I know." She lifted her head off Emma's shoulder and held out her manicured hand, a seductive smile slipping onto her face. "Ruby Lucas."

_Excuse you_, Emma thought. She threw her friend a sideways glance. She knew that smile, seen it at every party they'd ever been to together. Despite having just received the number of the guy she'd been pining over for the past weeks, she still had the audacity to flirt with Killian.

Maybe it was just in her nature. Maybe he was right about that.

"Emma here is going to have to discuss with her past educators about her language," Killian explained. Then, directing his next words to her, "You must direct me toward those who taught you, love, if you desire to go on using phrases like 'catching her fancy.' I've never heard an American utter such a delightfully European thing."

She rolled her eyes, not caring that he saw this time. "Yeah, well," Emma started hastily. She backed off for a moment to think of a proper insult, but all she could come up with was "Shut up, you wanker."

Again, his eyebrows rose, accompanied by the corners of his lips. "My, Swan," he said in fake aspersion. "You have such a way with words."

"Oh please," she quipped. "I'm not even at the top of my game right now. You couldn't handle me on a good day."

"Perhaps you're the one who couldn't handle it," he evenly proposed, adding a suggestive wink to the end.

Her eyes narrowed. A brief staredown ensued, her jade eyes locked on his blues one. Even with close to six inches in height separating them and even less dividing their bodies, Emma held her own, not daring to back down or give into his so-called charm. It was an oddly intimate moment, being in such a public space but only focusing on the way the blue in his eyes actually was a gradient, close to baby blue around the edges and growing darker closer to his pupil. Or how his hair almost sort of fell in his eyes. Or the manner in which his entire persona somehow changed when he spoke to her, growing softer.

The moment broke when Ruby coughed. "Do you guys want me to leave, or should I find a comfy seat and rustle up some popcorn?"

Emma reluctantly looked away first. "What?"

"Are you kidding me?" she asked skeptically. Her finger flicked between the two of them, barely enough room for a picture frame to fit between them. "I could cut this sexual tension in the air with a butter knife."

"Would you like to join, love?" Killian asked without faltering. "I'm all for sharing."

Ruby scoffed him off. "No thanks, Romeo. Your friend over there already wore me out. Maybe another time." Addressing her roommate, she rested her hand on her shoulder. "Ready to head back?"

"Would you lovely ladies care for an escort?"

Giving him a sarcastic glare, Emma denied him. "Don't you have to shower or something? You're kind of gross and sweaty and that can't be comfortable."

"Oh Emma, you'd be surprised how comfortable I am when I'm sweaty."

Disgust rose up on her face. "Killian," she complained. She pushed his chest, momentarily getting her fingers tangled in the hair there, and grabbed Ruby's hand. "You're a pig. Go shower."

He mockingly bowed to her. "As you wish, my lady."

The last thing Emma saw of him before she pulled Ruby to the exit was the genuine smirk. The one that comforted her in the bathroom and soothed her on his couch, not the weirdly sexy and intimidating one Ruby'd seen.

Her roommate was saying something quietly next to her, but Emma didn't hear a word. She was a bit hung up on the stare-down that had happened and what exactly was going on. She couldn't say anything for sure, but it was…different.

Just as Ruby was shoving the gym door open, Emma heard him yell across the cavernous room "I'll be seeing you, Swan."

Emma felt a secretive smile float across her lips and ducked her head to hide it from Ruby's nosy inquiries. For the first time that day, she was actually looking forward to the future, even if it was only tomorrow.

**a/n: hi guys. hope you liked this chapter. sass is my specialty, and i like to think i did quite well with it. ive got the next three or so chapters written thanks to a rainy fourth of july weekend, but i still need to edit them. next one's got quality Killy and Emma bonding time.**

**also, i havent written out that these characters aren't mine. they belong to ABC, Adam Horowitz, and Edward Kitsis. i thought this was especially important now that im trying to incorporate their dialogue.**

**as always, feel free to leave a comment telling me what you liked, what you didnt like, your favorite color, what you wanna see happen...whatever. have a lovely week, shippies :)**


	6. Chapter 6

The only time Emma could seem to arrange an appointment at the health center was Friday after her classes.

Which meant she had three days, give or take, to fluctuate in between the states of denial and panic.

She'd have to apologize to Ruby later when she told her everything. Because for those three days, give or take, Emma was the hottest of messes.

Getting up in the morning, she would be completely and blissfully unaware of her situation. It was any other Wednesday, Thursday, Friday morning, and she had classes to attend and papers to write and people to speak with.

Get dress, freshen up, bid farewell to Ruby. Grab a banana from the cantine if she thought her stomach could handle it (or if anything, she could eat when she thought she could handle it. She couldn't really tell if it was some sort of mild morning sickness or just too many nerves), check her mail, gain an education.

But as the day's plans lost her interest, she got lost in her own mind. Friday especially, as she began dozing off in history, her pencil's eraser drumming against her notebook, the sinking cold feeling returned and moved about her bloodstream. She could push it away temporarily, let it flow into some unnecessary or unimportant part of her, but it came back stronger every couple of minutes.

_Thirty-five more minutes in this class_, she thought, her heartbeat timing with her pencil pounding._ Then fifty minutes of biology. I can do this._

By the time she reached her biology lecture, where her professor was ironically teaching them about meiosis and mitosis, all she could think about was the possibility of those exact processes occurring inside her right at that moment. Her hands shook as she attempted to take notes, and her head soon followed. _I can't take it_, she deemed as she hastily shoved her belongings into her bag_._ She ended up leaving the lecture fifteen minutes early and headed straight to the health center.

For what it was worth, she didn't feel any better there.

After checking in at the reception desk with some elderly woman wearing a kind smile, Emma sat on a cold plastic chair that creaked when she leaned too far to one side. She fiddled with the strap of her bag, twirling and untwirling it around her fingers. When that bored her, she got out her phone, more out of habit than anything else, and just sort of stared at it.

In the past when she was this nervous, she would text someone, share her troubles. Back in high school, it'd been her 'big brother' Graham. But they hadn't really talked since he'd started his adventure around the globe in September. She'd received a postcard not too long ago from the Black Forest in Germany with a few words from him, but otherwise nothing.

She could message Ruby, but then her roommate would ask to meet up and the entire secret would fall to shambles once Ruby questioned her presence at the health center. There was always her parents, but both of them were at work and Emma hadn't really spoken to them since she'd told them.

_There's always Killian_, a small, shy voice commented.

It made her chuckle quietly. The rate at which she was trusting this boy, let alone becoming fond of him, was stunning. She swiped open her phone and commenced her search for his number when it hit her: she didn't have it.

Mentally berating herself, she physically covered her face in frustration. _It would figure the only other person on campus who knows I'm here, I can't contact._

For once, though, it seemed luck was on her side. Despite her appointment time not being for another ten minutes, the receptionist called her up to the window.

"If you go down this hallway," she said in her shaky, grandmotherly voice, "you'll find a couple exam rooms. The doctor will see you in number six." Emma nodded her thanks and left the counter.

_Okay, you can do this,_ she told herself as she turned the corner and began scanning the doors. _It's some complete stranger who's going to hardcore judge you. You can do this._

The third door on the left bore a nondescript red 6 just above eye level. Trying the handle, Emma found it unlocked and let herself in. It was like any other doctor's room she'd been in: a combination scale and stadiometer off to the side, next to two chairs similar to those in the waiting room. A counter with a couple of magazines for waiting patients hung from the wall next to the cornered examination table, complete with crinkly paper on top. There wasn't a window, or any sort of decorations on the white walls.

If she hadn't be feeling lonely before, she certainly did now.

After dropping her bag on one of the chairs, Emma hopped onto the table. Her legs didn't touch the ground, nor did she ever believe they would. That sensation, the one of your legs just hanging in midair, was one of the few that made her feel childish in all the good ways. Just like swinging on swing sets or making a mess with food did. It was soothing in the way only nostalgia could be.

She started kicking her legs, trying to rid herself of some of her anxious energy. One leg forward as the other's heel collided with the cabinets underneath, creating a satisfying 'thunk.' It made her titter awkwardly.

Her giddiness was short-lived, for another slam of her heel coincided with the creaking of door hinges. "Miss Nolan," the doctor droned. He had his white coat on, stethoscope around his neck, and glasses balanced on the bridge of his nose, underneath which he was giving her a disappointing look.

"Emma," she said timidly. "Go ahead and call me Emma."

"Okay, Emma." He offered his hand, which she took and shook. Bringing his hand back to his person, he glanced down at her paperwork she submitted to the lady up front. "What can I do for you today?"

"Umm…" She nervously licked her bottom lip, unsure of how to broach the subject. He looked up at her from the rim of his glasses, the complementary grandfather to the receptionist grandmother. His scrutiny forced her to stare at her shoes, stilled now. "Do you guys do, like, blood tests here?" she asked.

The doctor furrowed his brows in confusion. Emma had forgotten what that expression looked like on other people. It was a lot less infuriating, a lot less charming, and a lot less Killian. _Huh_.

"Yes, but only if we have specific motives and there aren't any alternatives," he explained. "Blood sampling is quite an expensive endeavor, wouldn't you know?"

Emma tried her hardest to suppress rolling her eyes, but she wasn't quite sure she was successful. _Oh yeah, of course it is. I'm the one with a need in my vein and you can't afford a couple extra clean ones even though neither my parents nor I will be able to retire until we're a hundred because of my tuition debt._

Still looking at her feet, Emma quietly said, "I'd like to request a blood test."

He laughed at her, actually laughed at her, and placed a hand lightly on her shoulder. "That's cute, sweetie, but like I said, you've got to meet certain requirements. Now, unless you've have an already diagnosed venereal disease or -"

"Look, doc," she stated frankly. She was more than done with this bullshit and it had barely even started. "My period's late, I had unprotected sex, and I took a home pregnancy test earlier this week that came out positive." She ignored his astonished look and continued after a deep breath. "I could honestly care less what your precious requirements are. Just shoot me up and tell me whether or not there's something growing inside me."

Obviously taken aback by her bluntness, he stared at her for a second before setting the papers on the end of the table. He muttered something while shaking his head and heading to the counter. Emma overheard the phrases "hormonal teenagers" and "in their pants" and "sixth one." She nearly lashed out at him again, _enough of this snark, I'll find another way_, when she saw him grab a syringe, a tourniquet, and a vial.

_Yesss. _

The doctor placed all his materials onto a small metal tray and snapped on some gloves. Emma unconsciously gulped, but held out her arm so he could tie off her upper arm with the tourniquet.

"This is going to sting," he warned her. When she felt him smear the cold antiseptic over her skinned vein, she closed her eyes. A slight pressure bit her arm and she winced.

It was over and done with before too long. Emma opened her eyes as the man stuck a bandage over the lightly bleeding spot. She watched him clean up silently, returning the tray beneath the table and labeling her blood sample.

As the man took off gloves, he said, "It can take up to 48 hours for the results to be processed, but it hasn't been that busy in the lab lately, so the possibility of someone calling you tonight is more likely." He shot the balled-up gloves into the trashcan, asking "Happy now?"

Emma uttered some incoherent words, all in a grateful tone. "Sorry," she added to the end, louder than her previous thoughts. The doctor met her gaze, unaware of her reason for apologizing. "You know, for kind of snapping at you. I'm sorry." The man gave her a pained smile and opened the door to usher her out. Emma whisked her stuff from the chair and headed to the exit. She waved goodbye to the receptionist, and walked briskly across campus back to her room. She had homework to do, after all.

_And by homework, I mean Google searches. Lots and lots of Google searches._

That's where Killian found her a couple hours later, wrapped up in a blanket on her bed, laptop touching her knees, when he knocked on her door.

She looked up at the sound, her glasses slightly magnifying her striking green eyes. "I thought you were in the ring again today," she greeted him.

"Nah, I managed to persuade Coach I wasn't feeling one-hundred percent following my skirmish with Victor yesterday," he answered her. Now that he had gotten her attention, he invited himself in, shucking his leather jacket and taking in his surroundings. He walked slowly, his eyes surveying every inch of the mostly-bare walls and the few knickknacks she had on her desk. Emma watched him do so, finding herself surprisingly embarrassed and restless to hear his opinion.

She didn't have much. There was a map of the country hanging on her side of the room, dotted with all the places she had visited or wanted to. Her desk held mostly school stuff, pencils and books, but a couple of pictures, some of her parents, one or two of her and friends, and one of a landscape she ripped from a magazine, added color. Everything on display had meaning to her, but to an outsider like Killian, it probably just looked like a feeble attempt at a life.

All her possessions paled in comparison to the vibrancy and assortment of Ruby's side of the room, decked out in various shades of red and too many posters of scantily clad men. Her closet and dresser spilled clothes and the pairs of shoes that covered her closet's floor outnumbered all the shoes Emma had ever owned.

When his inspection finished, he dropped his coat on her desk and flopped on her bed behind her computer, laying on his side to look at her. "This is not what I imagined your room looking like, Swan."

"You've already seen it," she reminded him. Then, pointing at his feet, "If you're going to invade my bed, those have to go."

A sly, seductive smile spread over his lips as he toed his shoes off. "If I were to invade your bed, love, it would only be to ravish you and silence your breathless begging. And yes, I have seen your living area, but it doesn't negate my opinion." He scooted up so his back leaned against the wall, grabbing one of her pillows from behind her as he moved. "It's much nicer with you it in, just as any room should be," he said, hugging the pillow closer to his chest. It almost made him look shy, nervous to be saying such a thing to a girl.

Her response was a sarcastic glare. He merely smiled. "By the way, I'm loving the spectacles, darling. They make you-"

He was interrupted by the shrill ringing of her phone. Emma fumbled around in her blanket looking for it, the music swelling and plummeting as she got closer and further from its hiding place.

She found it under her leg. "Shit," she muttered, recognizing the number flashing on her screen.

He jumped, his spine going ramrod straight. "Who is it?"

"It's the health center." Meeting his eyes, her worry shone through. _Gulp._ He gestured to the still-ringing machine and she quickly answered phone.

"Hello?...Yes, this is she..." She rolled her eyes. She'd never really understood why anybody asked that. _I gave them this number, who else would it be?_

Killian carefully watched her, playing with the edges of the pillowcase. When he figured out the conversation would be largely one-sided, he got bored and stole her laptop, relocating it to his lap. Shocked by screen, he gave her a quick eyebrow raise. Emma waved him off, giving him an annoyed look. He considered it and squinted at the tabs she had open. As the conversation went on, she saw the intrigue dawn on his face, tapping out something on the keyboard and thoroughly reading whatever was on the screen.

"Okay. Yes, I understand," she finally said. She hadn't really heard what the doctor had told her from the other end of the line, but had gotten the basic gist of it. "Yes, I'll give them a call in the morning. Thank you…You too. Goodbye."

She clicked her phone to end the call and dropped it in her lap. Her hands ran through her hair and came to rest on the back of her neck as she craned to see the ceiling. She exhaled loudly.

"So?" Killian gently inquired.

She sighed. "It's official. I'm pregnant."

**a/n: hello there. i know i just updated this a couple days ago, but im leaving for vacation tomorrow and won't be able to update for another two or so weeks, so i wanted to reward you ahead of time for dealing with my absence. yay for everyone! (also, if you have a one-shot prompt you kinda want someone to write, i have lots of plane rides to entertain myself with and i would love you forever if you were to help in that endeavor :))  
**

**to the guest who pointed out Emma's an only child in this story: thank you for doing so. let me explain my two reasons for that. number one is that i honestly sometimes forget baby Neal is around. i am just a forgetful person and he's only been around for three(?) episodes. im not denying his existence, i just think that this story is better told without him, just like its better told without Henry. number two is i wrote the first two chapters of this story in mid-December, before the character Mary Margaret was officially pregnant. for continuity's sake, im going to maintain that mindset for the remainder of this tale. (aka, dont expect Elsa or Anna to show up.)**

**that being said, thank you to all of you who have followed, favorited, commented, read, whatever about this story. i cant believe i havent already said so, my mother would be so disappointed in my manners. it means so much to me, getting all this feedback. whether you like it or not, youve all become my friends and it just warms my heart to know people are out there enjoying what i write. thank you so much.**

**im sorry this was kind of long. as always, feel free to leave a word. stay wonderful and ill update you guys in about two weeks. :)**


	7. Chapter 7

"How far along did they say you were?"

"He wasn't quite sure, but he said somewhere around five or six weeks." She looks down at her stomach. "There's really something in there."

"Believe it or not, love," Killian said. He followed her gaze, coming to rest on her inconspicuous abdomen. They raised their heads in tandem, jade eyes finding azure counterparts for any kind of comfort they would give. "Should I congratulate you, or would you rather I abstain?"

"Abstaining is good," she sighed. Quite dramatically, Emma flopped backed on her other pillow. Her forearms covered her face, attempting to conceal her mix of emotions coursing through her right now. "I don't know what to do now."

"You should probably call your parents," he suggested. She shot him down with an enthusiastic shake of her head. Peeking from between her arms, she saw him simultaneously playing with his hands over her keyboard and forming an idea in his head. Hesitantly, he offered another plan: "Or tell the father?"

She groaned and submerged her sight in darkness again. "Can't I just sit here and pretend that this isn't happening? Read my Google searches and eat my banana?" At that thought, Emma eased herself back into a proper sitting position. She scanned the room. "Where is my banana?"

A confused crease appeared between his eyebrows. "Banana?"

"Yeah," she said a little frantically. She stood from her cozy cocoon and stumbled to her desk after tripping over the edge of the blanket. "I haven't been feeling well when I get up, so I've been getting a banana before class every morning just in case I'm hungry during the day. You know, the whole B.R.A.T. thing?" She spared him a glance in her search. His lips were slightly parted, his eyes narrowed, and the wrinkle in his forehead deepened in puzzlement. "Seriously? What did they teach you over there?"

"Not to be a little prat," he perplexedly stated. "Honestly, this education system is mystifying. Your curricula actually taught you to be like that? "

Emma snorted. "No, not a prat, although I understand why'd you think so." She twirled around, making little noises as she sought out her bag. "It's an acronym for the foods that are supposed to settle your stomach. Banana, rice, applesauce, toast. Aha!" she exclaimed as she unearthed her bag from the fallen blanket. "Not to mention that bananas are an excellent energy boost, which is really what I need, especially since I'm tired all the time, even though I get much more sleep than any other college student I've ever known. They're a great source of potassium and pretty much the best healthy snack out there. You can cover them in choc-"

"Swan," Killian melodically interrupted her. Unaware of her rambling, she gave a bashful smile at his raised brow and knowing smirk. "And how long have you been doing this little regiment?"

Confounded by his question, Emma stared off into space, contemplating her answer. "I don't know." She stood with her bag in hand, mouthing words for no one in particular and lifting a finger every so often. "A week or so? Maybe two?" she finally guessed. "I don't really remember when-"

Coming back to herself, she turned her attention to his face, noticing how his brow had somehow rose higher and his grin had spread wider. His hand splayed out into the air in front of him, offering the obvious answer on the platter of his palm. "Oh. Wow," she realized quietly. She stared at her bag. Then curling one of her fingers around some loose hair, she asked, "How didn't I connect those dots?"

"Search me." Killian shifted her laptop onto the bed and scooted to the side. He got up and walked over to her dresser, reaching for the precise yellow fruit on top. "I believe this is what you were looking for?" he mockingly queried. Emma's shoulders sagged as she let her bag drop to the floor. Reluctantly, she snatched the banana from his grasp, stuck her tongue out in retaliation, and returned to her place on the bed.

Killian stayed where he was for a moment. Cocking his head to the side, he scratched at a spot behind his ear. "Did you have dinner?" he asked.

She slowed her motion mid-peel to consider his question. "No," she answered, tearing off the top of her banana and voraciously shoving it in her mouth. "But I'm not really hungry and the cantine's too far."

He made his way over to her bed and delicately placed his body perpendicular to hers. The corner of his mouth tipped up when he said, "You'll have to pardon my skepticism, Swan, but I do believe you're lying."

A brief look at herself and the empty peel in her hand resulted in a flustered smile. "Shut up."

"I will once you answer my question." He patted her knee in a comforting gesture. "Now, what are you going to do?"

After a glance at his hand on her leg, Emma played with her trash, pondering her next move. "I'm going to stay here tonight," she told him. She raised her head to meet his gaze, her confidence growing with each vertebrae that straightened. "Yeah. Do a little research, savor my banana, maybe go to bed early."

He nodded. "Alright." With a firm final tap, he stood up and grabbed his jacket from the desk. He was already at the door before she could ask, "Where are you going?"

"I'm going back to my room to grab my phone and some money." Seeing the question pop into her head, he held up a hand, nonverbally telling her to save her breath. "Now that it's official, you have to start treating yourself better. You can't be like any other universitarian, forgetting meals and staying up till all hours." He donned his jacket and dug through his pockets until he found his keys with a triumphant "Ha!" Pointing at her, he said, "I'm going to order us some pizza, and then, if you don't mind, I'll join you for your night in."

Hesitant of his kindness,_ although you have no real reason not to trust him_, Emma agreed. "Sure. I mean, Ruby's out with Victor, so she'll be gone for," she pretended to calculate her roommate's sexual dexterity, "a while."

"Swan," he gasped with faked shock. "If you wanted to be alone with me, all you had to do was ask." Killian chuckled at the glare she gave him. "Besides, my virility won't be on proper display if I have to worry about squishing the little one." He ducked out of the door frame just in time to avoid the pillow she threw at him. She could hear his laughter echo all the way down the hall.

He kicked in the almost closed door a few minutes later and moseyed in wearing some sweatpants and a plain V-neck, laptop in hand and wallet between his teeth.

"What about your roommate?" she inquired as if the conversation had never been interrupted. While he was gone, she'd taken the time to change into some more comfortable attire. She'd just finished pulling on a sweatshirt over some gym shorts when he entered.

Following an ungraceful discarding of his wallet, he disbelievingly asked her, "Don't you remember?" She shook her head and, setting his laptop down on an empty space on her desk, he reminded, "Weekend, woods, horny college students?"

"Right." Sucking in a breath, she jokingly grimaced. "So close to an alliteration."

They shared a look, his displaying his apathy and hers trying to contain her unbridled joy at her observation.

While waiting for the pizza to be delivered, they made small talk, Emma asking about his day, Killian asking about the rest of hers. It was nice, just to talk to someone else, get to know them. After he'd jogged down to pay the pizza man and obtain the food, they scarfed down the entire pepperoni pie, she far outeating him, much to his delight. They settled on to her bed, shoulder to shoulder, leaning their backs against the wall, reading up on whatever articles and information they could get their hands on and sharing any interesting findings.

"This site here says you shouldn't publically share the news with outside parties until the end of your first trimester," Killian mentioned close to midnight. Fatigue was beginning to taunt him, Emma could tell, causing him to rub his eyes.

"Probably smart," she muttered. Her energy seemed endless. Like many times in the previous hours, she turned her screen toward him and pointed to a paragraph. "Have you seen these things about miscarrying?" Her eyes widened in a mix of awe and fear at the presented information as he skimmed it. "Maybe I should tell Ruby just in case something like this happens."

"Nothing's going to happen to you, Swan. And if it does, you have my number."

"Actually, I don't." From the corner of her eye, she saw him turn his head to look at her profile. Almost guiltily, she met his gaze. "I was going to text you while I was waiting at the health center today, but I couldn't."

His hand came to rest over his heart. "How completely dishonorable of me," he scandalously declared. "I offer my services to the most beautiful of ladies and give her no way to contact me." He wriggled his fingers, gesturing for her phone. "What were my parents thinking when they raised such an imbecile?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "Yes," she lightheartedly sneered, mocking his accent with a butchered version of her own, "what _were_ they thinking?" She whacked the mattress around her and discovered her phone between her crossed legs. Unlocking her phone, she handed the object to him and watched him type his number in. Not a moment later, a 'ding!' rung from his cell next to him.

Picking up his phone, he slyly proposed, "Was this all just a ruse to get my number, Swan?"

She snorted. "Yeah," she replied sarcastically, "I plan on becoming a statistic all so I could get your number." She pushed her laptop away irately and threw her hands in the air in defeat. "You caught me."

A sad smile materialized on his face. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and tugged her body into his side. "You know you're more than that," he reassured her.

Tears appeared in the corners of her eyes. She sniffed and wiped her eyes, hoping to keep the waterworks from flowing. _Where are these emotions coming from? _"Right now, I'm not feeling like it."

"Emma," he whispered. A small thrill spiked her spine at her name, but it soon washed away, thanks to the incapacitating hopelessness drowning her. "You're the most important person in the entire solar system at this exact moment in time. You've got a child, albeit it unplanned, growing inside you right now. Your parents love you, you've got friends who'll look after you. You're headstrong and brave and so much more than a daft percentage point." He pulled her impossibly closer, forcing her head to fall onto his shoulder. "No one decides your fate but you," he stated, shaking her a bit to impress his point. "So, you can choose to continue wallowing in your despair, be a statistic. Or," he paused for dramatic effect. The silence stretched for so long that she raised her head to look at him. His eyes were waiting for her, bright with optimism that slowly spread to her. "You can rise to the occasion."

More quiet, save for the whirr of their laptop fans, filled the room. Two pairs of eyes maintained contact for an auspiciously long time, charging the room with apprehensive energy.

"You're surprisingly good at pep talks," she complimented him quietly. It came out a little breathless for her ears, but she chocked it up to Killian's arm around her.

Or her out-of-control emotions.

Or the complexity of her entire situation.

Whatever would be the most believable excuse when she reflected on this moment.

"How do you think I made this far?"

Her snicker broke the mounting tension. He smiled at the sound, and joined in. The tears meant for sadness fell from the corners of her eyes in delight. "Try something new. It's called trust." Retracting his arm, but not his gaze, he said, "Trust me, Swan. Trust yourself."

Emma nodded and stifled a yawn behind her hand. A glance at the number on her phone and the weight of her eyelids told her it was past her bedtime. "Thank you, Killian. For everything." She briefly surveyed the condition of her room, from the empty pizza box to the messy state of her bed. "But it's kind of late."

He nodded in understanding and started gathering his things. "Of course, of course. I'll leave you to get some beauty rest." Slipping and standing to the side of her bed, he patted his pockets and spun on the spot, checking to make sure he had all his belongings. She powered down her computer and set it on the floor, then slid under the covers, all while watching him.

Wagging a finger at her, he repeated his earlier self. "Talk to your parents in the morning. And remember to eat."

"Yes, Mom," she retorted, happy to see a sassy grin emerge from his lips.

He walked to her door and, when he stepped back to open it, turned to her and muttered, "Sweet dreams, Swan."

"Goodnight, Killian," she bid him. She saw his smile one last time before the wood obscured her vision and she heard the click of the lock, signaling his departure.

Burrowing deeper into the warmth left behind by their bodies, she couldn't seem to wipe the slight smile from her face.

She does have sweet dreams that night, of the pair of them, doing the most mundane things, of more nights like this one. Which, considering her dreamless history, is news enough for her.

**a/n: hi guys! im back from vacation and ready to...sit on tumblr and write fanfiction. i dont have much of a life. sorry its taken me so long to update again. im apparently not very good at counting how long two weeks are.**

**that being said, i have two little housekeeping thingies to do. number one is the ever important reminder that, despite a strong desire, these aren't my characters. they dont belong to me. i kinda just picked them up and placed them in a new environment. all the characters come from the minds of Edward Kitsis and Adam Horowitz. i dont know if ive given them credit in this story yet, but i dont want to be sued or anything like that, so better safe than sorry. **

**secondly, this story has more than 100 followers. 100. THATS MORE THAN I CAN COUNT ON MY HANDS AND FEET. when i came home to find my email flooded with "so-and-so has followed Shower Streams" notes, i actually cried (although the 32 hours with no sleep might have also played a part in that). thank you all so much for continuing to read this story. thank you for your follows, your favorites, your comments, everything. i know everyone says this, but getting all this feedback means the world to me. i cannot thank you enough.**

**im trying really hard to keep these author's notes short, but im bad at it. as always, feel free to leave a word telling me what you think. until then, muah.**


	8. Chapter 8

The click of Ruby's heels woke her from her rather pleasant slumber that Saturday morning. She still wore her outfit from the previous night, meaning her date was clearly a success. In her hand, she held a white takeout box containing her breakfast, Emma assumed.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty."

"Hey. How was…" Her sentence was left hanging when Ruby opened the box. The smell of chocolate chip pancakes, Emma's favorite, wafted over to her bed.

And she couldn't stand it. It was absolutely revolting. _How could I ever eat that? _

She threw off her covers and bolted to the bathroom. In the same stall she'd passed the one test she didn't want to, Emma kneeled to the ground and began dry heaving over the toilet. Nothing was coming up, nothing was going to come up, but just the _smell_ was so off-putting that her stomach wouldn't stop pulsating, trying to force every remnant of the scent out of her system.

She stayed praying at the porcelain throne for a few more minutes before her stomach decided enough was enough. The last of silent tears rolled down her cheeks. She wiped them away, slowly exiting the stall. Checking out the damage in one of the mirrors, she saw her puffy red eyes and the tracks her tears had made.

"If this is what I have to look forward to for the next couple months, I'm not a fan," she muttered to her reflection. She sniffed and headed back to her room.

Thankfully, Ruby had the sense to either eat her meal or throw it away before her return, and the window was open, allowing the stiff breeze to blow away the smell. She sat on her bed as Emma mumbled quiet gratitudes to her apprehensive roommate's stare.

"Sorry," she apologized in a gravelly voice. "It was…" How was she going to play this off? Taking a seat at the foot of her bed, she finished her thought with "…a rough night last night."

The concern vanished from her expression and that signature Ruby nosiness appeared in its stead. "Oohh, tell me more."

Emma hesitated. She didn't want to outright lie to her, but, like Killian had said last night, it wasn't really safe to tell anyone who didn't already know. _Knowing my luck, I'd tell her and miscarry the next morning._

_Why would you say something like that, you moron?! Karma's a bitch. You of all people should know that._

"Nothing really happened. Killian and I..." What was a safe answer? "hung out and…" She struggled for any sort of explanation. For someone who managed to keep her secrets in a small town like hers, she wasn't very good at lying.

Ruby's eyes widened and hit the bed in vexation. "And? Don't leave me hanging!"

Shaking her head, she cleared her throat and uttered, "Doesn't really matter." _That's right. Change the subject. Good technique._ "Tell me about your night with Victor."

"Well," she started, her bubbly glee overflowing. "First off, he's a stand-up guy, really. He's a biology major on the pre-med track…"

Her voice started fading away, her story getting lost in Emma's brainwaves. This often occurred when Ruby told her stories. It's not that she didn't try to listen; she really did. But they all sort of sounded the same after a while.

Besides, she had other, more pressing matters on her mind. Like whether she should tell her best friend that she was, let's face it, knocked up.

_She's your best friend,_ one voice pleaded in one corner.

_It's too soon, _another reasoned. _You don't want to celebrate and have something go wrong. Keep her safe._

_But what if something does go wrong?_ the other one asked. _Ruby would be the first one I'd want to support me._

_You can't,_ the second firmly stated. _Less damage to control. That's it. You can survive with Mom and Dad and Killian._

_Killian. _What had he said last night? _Try something new. It's called trust. Trust me. Trust yourself. _If her first instinct was not to tell Ruby, then she needed to trust herself.

"Aren't you hungry?" Ruby's voice cut through the muddle of her inner monologue. Emma shook any remaining thoughts from her head and blinked owlishly at her roommate. "You must be starved. I'll go back to the cantine with you."

"No, no, that's alright." She rose from her bed and went to her closet. A brief consideration of actually trying today resulted in her throwing on a pair of sweatpants and pulling her hair back hastily. _Nah. _Grabbing her phone from her desk, she informed Ruby, "I'm just gonna go outside and call my parents. Check in with them."

"Take you jacket, it's windy out today," she warned.

"Thanks!" And out the door she went.

The elevator ride was short enough and dull enough to be forgotten, as it usually was. The lobby of her building was vacant, and it was just before a reasonable hour for college students to stir on a Saturday morning. She could call her parents from the warmth and safety of the lobby, but the bench right outside, for some ungodly reason, seemed to be the best place for that conversation.

A couple friendly faces passed by: Belle, a girl from her hometown, and Archie, both who lived in her building. Gusts of wind whipped her hair in every direction, but only for brief moments, and once she sat on the bench, the cold metal swiftly soaked through the cotton of her pants. The imposing frigidity of winter sped her actions, if for no other reason to keep her warm, and she dialed her house number.

Her mother picked up on the second ring. "Hello, Nolan residence, Mary Margaret speaking."

"Hi Mom."

Relief and a touch of sadness colored her voice. "Hi honey. How're you doing?"

Letting out a big sigh, she said, "I've been better."

"I'm sure," she sympathized. A hush flooded the line for a minute before Mary Margaret hazarded a question. "Any news?"

"Yeah," Emma reluctantly answered.

"Is that a 'yeah' you have news or 'yeah' you're pregnant?"

"Both," she allowed. Shifting her position on the bench and the volume of her voice (she didn't want to alert the entire world about her condition), she continued, "I went to the health center yesterday and they called me last night. Said it's been about five or six weeks."

Her mother made some low sound of understanding. "You're going to need your first ultrasound soon."

"Yeah, that's what he said last night," she agreed. She pulled her arm deeper into her sleeve so it covered her cold fingers. "It's one of the reasons I wanted to call you."

"Do they not have any service at that kind there?"

"He said not really. Besides, he was kind of an asshole, so it'd probably be better if I came home and got one." Sheltering part of her face with her sleeved hand, she wavered for a second. Unbidden tears (_they're from the cold and the wind, that's it_) welled from her eyes. In an even quieter and shakier voice, she said, "I kind of also don't want to be alone. I was hoping you'd come with me?"

"Of course, Emma," her mother soothed her hurriedly. "Don't ever think otherwise. I'll call someone up here and you can come home next weekend. We'll do it then."

Emma sniffed a bit and wiped away an errant tear, mumbling her thanks. After another moment of quiet, Mary Margaret uncertainly asked, "Have you told the father yet?"

"No," she said, just as uncertain. "I'm debating whether he should even know. We weren't really…" She searched for the right word. "Together."

"That's something every mother wants to be reassured of," her mother mumbled. "But you know who it is?"

"Yes, Mom. I'm not that much of a tramp."

"I never said you were," she defended herself. "I just wanted to make sure the OB/GYN was the only person I needed to call."

"Jeez, Mom," Emma griped. Frustrated, she scrubbed her hand across her forehead. "I know the rights to my own body. I wouldn't have let anybody near me with a seven foot stick if I thought they were going to rape me." She failed to mention to her mother that her future grandchild's father could legally drink while her daughter couldn't even vote. Nor did she reveal that he was, for all intents and purposes, in charge of her daughter's safety and wellbeing. _Minimize damage._

The other end of the phone broke out in her mother's guffaw. "That's my girl. Your father will be so proud of you."

Emma breathed a smile of relief. "Yeah." She thought about her mother breaking the news to her father, the concerned crease in his brow. Though she knew he would never lash out against his wife, Emma feared he would do something rather rash. She had inherited her 'punch first, ask questions later' attitude from him, after all.

_Maybe it'd be better if I told him myself._

Deciding that was the best course of action, Emma's next words were "Is he around? I kind of wanna tell him myself."

Mary Margaret's laughter died down. "Sorry, honey, he's down at the station. There's been a string of break-ins he's worrying about and the Frenchs' house caught fire earlier this week and, of course, we've been waiting to hear from you."

"That's fine. Tell him to call me back when he's got the time."

"Will do, sweetie." Emma could tell just by her mother's inflection that her father hadn't been all too present that week. She was worried about him, as any good wife should be for her husband.

But their relationship had always been more than that. They were partners more than anything else. Sure, her mother made the meals and her father was the predominant breadwinner, creating that perfect family Ruby always teased her for. And yet, her father did the laundry and her mother taught her how to hunt in the forests outside their town. They were anything but stereotypical.

She'd always assumed it stemmed from their origins: her father was a fresh-faced officer assigned to a routine breaking-and-entering case of which her mother was the primary suspect. After countless close calls, David had vowed to make her pay, vowed to find Mary Margaret, always and until the end of time. And he did, at the end of the aisle, blushing and waiting to say 'I do.'

Breaking her concentration, Mary Margaret inquired, "Have you got any fun plans for this weekend?"

"Well, I was going to join the stoners and smoke a joint before trolling the frat house parties with a handle in each hand," Emma jested, "but I guess I have to rethink that now."

"Har har," her mother sarcastically offered. "Don't joke about that. I went to college. I know what it's like."

"Fine. I'll change my plans." She took a moment to think about it. "Maybe I'll ask Ruby for a girls' night in." _Although I kind of did that last night._

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," Mary Margaret articulated. "Or maybe go into the city and do some touristy things. Ask that RA of yours, what's his name? Nico?"

Emma felt her face pale and she gulped. "Neal."

"Yeah, that's it. Maybe he could suggest some things to do."

Quietly, she responded, "Yeah, maybe."

Her mother kept talking, suggesting fun things to do sober while Emma rolled her lower lip between her fingers. Leroy, a friend of hers, was strolling back to the front of the building. She waved and he acknowledged her with a return of the gesture, but soon started walking toward her. _I must really look a mess if Leroy's coming over here._

"I'll figure something out." Leroy walked up and took a seat next to her on the bench. "Mom, it's been great talking to you, but Leroy's just come up…" The guy in question waved his hand at his name. "He says hello, and we're going to go to the cantine for some breakfast."

"Go ahead, don't let me keep you," Mary Margaret imparted. "Stay out of trouble, honey."

"Already in it," she quipped back.

"I mean it, Emma," her mother said sternly. "It's not just yourself you have to worry about."

"I know, mom." She thought of Killian and his nagging the previous night. If he had anything to do with it, he'd never let her forget she was pregnant. "Trust me, I know."

The grin in her mother's tone was completely obvious when she next spoke. "I'll tell your father to call you. And I'll see you next weekend." Almost as an afterthought, as though she wasn't originally going to say it, she muttered, "I love you."

"Love you too, Mom. Bye." She tapped the end call button and turned her attention to the guy beside her. "Hi Leroy."

"Morning, Emma," he greeted her. "I was just making sure you were feeling alright 'cause you're white as a sheet, but I guess we're going to breakfast."

She waved him off and made a face of pointlessness. "You don't have to come to the cantine with me. It was just an excuse to get off the phone with my mother." The wind gusted again, ruffling the edges of both their coats. Emma pulled hers closer to her body to savor some of her body heat. "And I'm fine, thanks, just a little chilly."

"That's good to hear," his head nodding to further his point. "It would be my pleasure to escort you."

"Okay," she chortled, standing from the freezing metal. They walked the path he'd just wandered. It was a short walk, despite her complaints last night. There was just enough time to make polite small talk over classes and the weather.

When they entered the bustling cantine, the noise overwhelmed her ears alongside the scents engulfing her nose. Her stomach revolted like a livid sea, thrashing against her insides. She rested a hand against her abdomen, hoping her own touch with calm the storm inside. Everything smelled disgusting and even her go-to staple bananas looked unappetizing. She surveyed the long lines of hungover and tired college students and her eyes settled on the coffee machine. _That's it._

In her haste to leave the place, she forgot Leroy had accompanied her. She pressed a button and the machine spewed out steaming hot chocolate into a paper cup.

"Do you know where the whipped cream is?" she asked her friend, her eyes briefly glazing over as she watched the steam curl off the cup.

A bit confused, Leroy answered, "I think it's over by the waffles."

"Just go head and get whatever if you gonna," she said, leaving him to his own devices. "I'll meet you outside the registers."

Without waiting for his response, Emma hurried through the hordes of kids to the waffle station. The cool can of whipped cream called to her. She grabbed it from its cooler and squirted some on the top of her drink. She took a sip, but it wasn't all she wanted.

_There's something missing._

She searched high and low for something, _anything_, that would complete the taste, when she saw the spices near the register. Taking a chance, she perused the small selection of spices, picked one up, and sprinkled some cinnamon on top of the cream. She paid the register lady and sipped while walking toward Leroy. A satisfied smile spread over her face.

_Perfect. _

"Nothing to eat?" Leroy wondered. Killian's voice popped in her head at Leroy's question. _And remember to eat._ But then she thought of the almost catastrophe the mere smell of Ruby's breakfast caused and the ruckus upon coming into the cantine. _Nope. Eating is not an option right now._

"Nah. I don't think I could handle it right now."

"Fair enough," he supposed. Flicking a thumb over his shoulder, he asked, "You gonna stay or head back?"

Emma surveyed the dining area with all its pajama-clad eaters. "I think I'm gonna stay for a while. Thanks Leroy."

"Not a problem, sister." He saluted her, and took off back toward his room.

She followed him shortly, finding a small empty table she could sit at alone with her drink.

_Maybe I should tell him._

_It's none of his business. You weren't a couple. _

_But this is as much his fault as it is yours. _

_No. His fault. His fault. _

_My fault. My fault. _

This conflict continued relentlessly in her head as she sipped from her cup and played with the rim until the drink was gone. It would've gone on all day if she hadn't received a text from Belle, asking if she wanted to go into town for the day, maybe get a bite to eat, do some shopping. Just normal Saturday college things.

Normal. It was something she wouldn't be able to appreciate for much longer. Soon she would crave normal, just like she was craving more cocoa with cinnamon. _Maybe that's my craving. I can deal with that._ It wasn't like spaghetti and ice cream together, or prickly pears. Hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon was normal.

And normal sounded good.

She stood from her table and went to change for a normal afternoon outing with a friend while she still had the time.

**a/n: this one is short. sorry this chapter's a bit late. i have no idea what day it is anymore. as always, feel free to leave a word telling me what you think. until next time, muah. :)**


	9. Chapter 9

A sleepy Sunday led to a manic Monday, straight into a largely uneventful week. Emma's morning heaving got worse, occurring more than once a day and actually producing something. It'd gotten to the point where she had to email her professors, apologizing for her absence and promising to turn in her work the next session. All of them were understanding enough (apparently, a stomach bug was ravaging the campus.) While she kneeled on the gray tile floor, her cheek resting against the toilet seat, waiting for the current bout to run its course, she debated.

_It _is_ his child. He should know._

_He hasn't talk to you since said child was conceived._

_He should still know._

_If he comes by before spring break, I'll tell him. _She thought about it more_._

_Why do you want to give him so many chances?_

_It's his child._

_SO?_

_If he contacts me in anyway before spring break, I'll tell him. That's fair, right?_

Spring break was less than a month away. She could deal with that. She'd lasted this long. And, honestly, if he wasn't going to make an effort, then why should she?

Besides, she had Killian. Killian, who checked on her every day, if not in person then via text. He even walked her back to their building after his Tuesday practice, offering to carry her bag and all. They researched more in his room that night, and she even got the chance to meet his roommate.

Robby was a sweetheart, completely head-over-heels in love with his girlfriend Regina. When he walked in, shaggy hair in his face and mouthing 'Hello' to Killian and Emma as they sat on the couch, he was on the phone with Regina, making sure she got home safely. After hanging up, he made polite small talk with the both of them, cracking a few jokes and never asking why or how the two had become such fast friends. He just muttered something about "best yet" and stuck his headphones in his ears.

Emma liked him a lot.

Friday rolled around, bringing with it the usual relief and a little bit of anxiety on Emma's part. She was more than ready to go home, even if it took two and a half hours in a car with her dad. But her bed and her mother's cooking were the light at the end of that tunnel, and she couldn't seem to get there fast enough.

She hurried about the room, shoving clothes into a bag and searching for every piece of dirty laundry she could find. Free washer and dryer opportunities only came around about every two months, and Emma was desperate to use those times to their full extent. Ruby gave a watchful eye from the comfort of her bed, her heels kicked off and her phone cast to the side.

"Do you really have to go home this weekend?" she whined.

Sighing, Emma replied, "Yes, Ruby. For the twelfth time, I do."

"Butttt Emmmmaaa," she moaned, kicking her heels into her mattress, "Victor's invited us to a party tonight and you have to be there."

"Why?" she asked, sitting up from her crouched position next to her bed (she'd been known to lose socks underneath). "You don't need a wingwoman anymore."

Ruby say up and dangled her legs off the edge of her bed. "You hardly go out anymore. I just want you to have fun."

"Don't worry about me," she chided. "Go enjoy yourself."

Her roommate's groans were interrupted by the shrill tones of Emma's phone. She patted around her clothes-laden bed until she discovered her phone beneath a pile of socks. The caller ID told her it was her father.

"Hey," she loudly said. "It's my dad. Keep it clean."

After Ruby let out a resounding chorus of "EMMA, PUT YOUR PANTS ON!" she answered her father's call.

"Hi, Dad."

"Hey, princess." His voice came out tinny, a tell-tale sign he was in the area. Reception sucked, though no one was quite sure why. "I'm just pulling into a spot, so I'll be in the lobby in a minute."

Surprised, Emma stopped him. "Oh, don't worry, I'll just bring my stuff down and then we-"

"No," he interrupted, "no, I'm coming up. I want to say hello to Ruby."

Emma glanced at the brunette, her nose stuck to her phone like usual. "Okay. I guess I'll be down in a minute."

The line went dead after that. She pulled back to view the screen, then shrugged her shoulders. She muttered something about her return, which Ruby waved off. Grabbing her keys, she dashed down the hall to the elevator. She jammed the down button, _please don't let me see anyone_, until the metal doors opened to admit her.

David was waiting for her when she got to the ground floor. Without a second's hesitation, she ran from the lift and into her father's arms. She felt his strength crush her in the most comforting way, his hand coming up to cradle the back of her head to protect his little girl.

"Hi, Dad," she mumbled into his neck.

"Hey there," he said in return. They pulled back to face each other. Her eyes slid shut as her father kissed her on the forehead. "How's it going, kiddo?"

Dragging him into the elevator, Emma said, "It's going." She sighed and pressed the button to her floor. She wondered whether her mother had actually held off in telling him about the progression of her situation.

Making sure that they were, in fact, alone in the lift, she decided to tell him regardless.

"So," she started slowly, looking into the reflection of the doors. "I went to the health center this week…" She should just spit it out, but the words stuck like molasses in her throat.

She saw his apologetic smile in the mirror of the door. "I know." She rolled her eyes and looked to him, managing to brandish her sass in the roll of her neck. He shrugged innocently. "Your mother's a terrible secret keeper."

Sighing, she relented. "She really is." Then, turning her eyes to changing floor numbers lighting up, she complained, "I wanted to tell you. Hear it from the horse's mouth and everything."

David's arm wrapped around her shoulder and brought his daughter into his side. "I was going to pretend I didn't know, but you seemed to be having trouble getting it out."

"It's not an easy thing to tell your father."

"I know, honey." Emma leaned her head on his shoulder and he kissed the crown of her head. "I know."

The doors opened to reveal the sad attempts at hallway cheeriness in hopes of washing away the winter blues. They walked down the hall, father's hand at the small of daughter's back. The door still hung open from Emma's departure, and Ruby had yet to move an inch.

"Hi Ruby," he greeted her from the doorway. Ruby threw her phone to the side and stood up, awkwardly waving.

"Hello, Mr. Nolan. How are you doing?"

"I'm well, thank you for asking." He paused before adding, "At least I'm better than a red stoplight."

Ruby tilted her head to her shoulder. "Why is that?"

Snickering to himself, he said in a faux stage whisper, "I'm not changing in the middle of the street."

Emma grumbled wordlessly. Dad jokes were the bad in the first place, but her father's dad jokes were the worst. She felt her face redden and she buried her face in the bag she was picking up, just knowing he had the stupidest proud smile on his face.

Politely laughing, Ruby shoved her hands down her back pants' pockets. "Good one, Mr. Nolan." She looked to Emma's ostrich-like posture and started edging toward the door. "I have to go somewhere, but it was nice seeing you again, Mr. Nolan. Have a good weekend at home, Emma."

The pair gave a chorus of "Bye, Ruby." David watched the brunette flit into the hall. Turning to his daughter, he quietly asked her, "Have you told her yet?"

"No," she said into her bag.

Approaching her, he gently placed his hand on her curved back, following her spine up and down in a pacifying motion. "That's probably for the best."

"I know, Dad. Everyone's telling me that."

At that moment, a hollow knock sounded on the wood.

"Hey Swan, I was..." He trailed off. Emma uncurled herself to see Killian standing on the threshold, hanging off the frame as he usually did. He grinned at her, but his eyes soon shifted to the man next to her. Much like with Ruby, Emma watched the charm switch on. The boyishness fled from his features and his arms moved to rest on his hips. He bounced off the doorframe and walked into the room, his entire presence dictating the power rested with him (which Emma found very presumptuous, but she let it be for the moment.)

Her father, to his credit, wasn't impressed. He mirrored Killian nearly identically, his face turning stoic and his lips forming a thin line.

"Good afternoon," he said in a low voice. He propelled his hand out. "My name is Ki-"

David's fist connected with Killian's jaw, subsequently cutting him off. Killian fell against her desk, his hand covering the majority of his face, as David prepped another punch.

"DAD!" Emma screamed. She grabbed the insides of her father's elbows and pulled him from behind. They wrestled, David lurching forward while his daughter yanked him back, until Emma managed to wrangle him on to Ruby's bed. "Are you crazy or something?" He made to stand again, but a shove on his shoulders kept him down. Emma paused defensively for a moment, like an owner trying to detain their dog, before rushing over to Killian.

"Isn't he the father?" her father harshly hissed. He studied his knuckles for injuries and, finding none, shook them out, trying to regain the feeling in his hand.

"Of course not!" she hastily answered. Her focus was solely on Killian. She forced him up by his shoulder and took his face into the palms of her hands. Other than a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth, he seemed to be unscathed. Turning his head this way and that, she asked quietly, "Are you okay?"

"Nothing a little time and ice won't heal." His hand came up to cover hers, calming her with small drawings on the back of her hand. Emma wiped away his blood with her thumb, unintentionally tracing the curve of his bottom lip. Her eyes rose slowly to meet his. They were back to their normal shade of blue, like the sky and the ocean and a robin's egg all together, and sparkling with…something. _What is he thinking in that head of his?_

She gave him a small smile, patted him on the cheek, and drew away from him. "Dad, this is Killian Jones," she presented. "He's been helping me out with research and stuff." Then, turning to her father, she added, "Killian, this is my father, David Nolan."

Killian approached him and offered his hand again, if not with a little more caution. David rose from the bed and grasped it firmly. "Sorry, Killian," he apologized. "Just doing my fatherly duty."

His voice came out a little shaky, but the respect tinging Killian's "Understandable, sir" was indisputable. _Did he think Dad posed some sort of threat? _she thought.

"You've been watching after her?"

"Watching, yes." He chanced a glance at her. "Your daughter is quite a marvel. Watching is all she'll let me do." It took him a moment to realize some sort of accidental innuendo beneath his compliment. Emma didn't catch it, couldn't think it through, but rolled her eyes when she noticed him reaching for that spot behind his ear, the telling sign of embarrassment and nerves. _In front of my father, of course he'd turn all withdrawn_.

Scratching said place, he corrected himself. "What I mean is that she's quite capable of fending for herself."

Her father sighed and pulled her into his chest. "Always has been." Almost tiredly, he said, "Guess she was bound to have a lapse in judgment sooner or later."

"Dad," Emma uttered, freeing herself from his embrace. "I didn't have a lapse in judgment. I made a mistake, just like all humans do. I'm human."

"And so am I, Emma." In a moment of tenderness she missed, David kissed her on the head. She should've cared that Killian was in the room, less than five feet from them, but in the hustle of the recent insanity, all Emma wanted was her dad, replacing the pain of a boo-boo with his warmth and unending love.

And she was getting it, even if it were for only the short amount of time until Killian cleared his throat. David pulled back, not letting her stray far, and checked his watch. "We better get going if we're going to get home in time for dinner."

Snapping out of her daze, Emma agreed and started picking up her things. Her father halted her before she could even lift a finger, hoisting it over his shoulder instead. Confused, she hesitantly mumbled, "Um, okay."

David looked to Killian, who merely shrugged. "You're not supposed to lift heavy things while pregnant," he told her, dumbfounded.

An incredulous laugh bubbled up her throat. "Dad, I help you stack firewood in the winter," she reasoned with him. Motioning to the bag on his shoulder, she said, "I've helped mom haul kills heavier than that."

"He's got a point, lass," Killian chimed in.

Like a pinball between bumpers, Emma's head bounced between the two men. Her jaw dropped. "Don't you two gang up on me," she scolded them. "I'm barely pregnant, not an invalid. I can carry some of my own stuff."

"Swan, weren't you begging me to carry your bookbag back from practice the other night?"

An accusatory finger pointed at him. "Extenuating circumstances, Jones."

"Practice?" David inquired.

"Yessir," Killian informed him, smug smile and all. "Your daughter and her roommate spend their Tuesday nights sitting in the stands while I box with the rest of the team."

He curiously looked at his daughter. "Is that so?"

"Heh, yeah. It is," she awkwardly admitted. She licked her lips, waiting for either of them to change the subject.

But, when they didn't get the social cue, she clapped her hands. "Well, this has been fun, but we've got to get home." She shooed David out the door. "You know the way out, Dad. I've just got to lock up."

An eyebrow cocked in suspicion, David's gaze flitted between the two teenagers. "Alright," he conceded, "but be down in five minutes."

"Okay." The older man exited into the hall and Emma waited for the dinging of the elevator to shove Killian from her room. "I actually need to lock up. Move it, Jones."

They stood outside her closed door while she fumbled with the key. "Where are you off to, Swan?" he asked, leaning against the frame with crossed arms.

"C'mon, Killian, I thought you were smarter than that."

"You're going back home, I understand that," he said. His arms unwound and he came to rest his hand on her shoulder. She looked up, key in the lock. "But why?"

She checked the hallway for passersby. _Just my luck, someone super smart would pass and connect all the dots. _In hushed tones, she informed him, "I've got an ultrasound."

His lips parted in an understanding 'Oh.' Just as quietly, he asked, "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah," she reassured him. "Don't worry about me."

"I'm bound to worry about you, Swan," he declared. That smirk of his found its way onto his face. "It's my occupation."

Emma scoffed, but returned the smile. "Maybe you should look for a new one," she joked.

"Why quit a job I love?" he asked in all severity. Emma flinched, daring only to stare at the door in front of her. _What the fuck does that mean?_ Did he actually enjoy dealing with her shit? Or did he mean something more, something that she definitely couldn't fathom right now?

_You're overanalyzing this. Calm down._

Oblivious to the train of thought derailing in her head, Killian continued forward. "You have my number now," he whispered. "If it gets to be too much, you know where I'll be."

She pulled the key from the lock and tested the door. It shook, but didn't open. She started down the hallway, despairingly saying, "Yeah, here, partying it up like every other college student."

His brows rose as he pushed off the wall and followed her, but he smiled anyway. "Who knows? Robby's gone for the weekend. I'll have the room all to myself." He leaned closer, his chin nearly resting on her shoulder even while they walked. "Who knows what hijinks I might find myself in?"

Jealousy shot through Emma. _Why? _Killian wasn't _hers_: he was his own person, an attractive, popular college boxer who had girls lining up to even breathe the same air. He was free to go out to parties and bring those skanks, _no, girls_, home, especially when he had his shared room all to himself. She offhandedly wondered how many of those girls he'd seduced or even disrobed on the same couch he'd comforted her on.

_It doesn't matter. He owes you nothing._

Nevertheless, she took her frustration out on the lift button, jamming it into the wall with her entire body and forcibly getting his chin away from her. "Well, have fun. And don't be a moron." Her hand flourished over her person to impress her point. "I don't know what I'd do if you were thrusted into this same situation now. Who would I trust?"

She only caught the tail end of a sadness in Killian's eyes. He masked it well, but she could sense it. Something about her 'situation' pained him, and for a practical stranger to clash with their own demons just to be there for her was…well, she couldn't think of a word. "You'll always have me, Swan," he eased her. The shiny doors opened, but Emma could take her eyes from his. "Now go. I don't want to cross your father."

Nodding, she looked away and took a step into the lift. The doors were nearly closed when she stuck her hand in between them. Licking her lips, she quickly hopped out and, relieved to see Killian hadn't moved yet, threw her arms around his waist. With all her might, she squeezed him. He was solid, he was strength, he was warm. He was standing alone in the hallway, no intention of going anywhere, making sure she departed safely. _He can have his fun, but this moment here is ours._

Just as she was about to let go, she felt his head duck to hers and his arms wound around her.

"See you soon, Killian," she mumbled into his chest.

"Safe travels, Swan," he whispered into her hair.

Emma heard the doors sliding shut again and reluctantly let go, once again sticking her arm in between.

Completely ignoring the blush coloring her cheeks, she convinced herself that embrace was for his benefit.

_Maybe that'll cheer him up. _

It certainly cheered her.

**a/n: it must be summer, because today snuck up on me. i couldve sworn it was tuesday. but CAPTAIN CHARMING SWAN. YAYYYY. this was one of my favorite parts to write, so i hope you enjoy it.  
**

**two orders of business. one, i dont own any of the characters. not mine. wish they were, but they arent. just a reminder.**

**two, i was thinking of writing a series of oneshots similar to this Outlaw Queen idea ( post/93553851031/oq-alphabetically-h-for-hair because i cant link to anything in this, useless me.) but with Captain Swan. id use words related to their relationship, like accent for A or captain for C. would you guys be interested in reading something like that? leave me a word on what youre thinking, about this idea or Shower Streams. until next time. :)**

**edit: if you have any words to suggest for previously mentioned alphabetical oneshots, go ahead and message me or comment. ive got ideas for most letters, but more are always welcome**


	10. Chapter 10

About three or four hours of traffic and country roads alike, David pulled his truck to the curb of their apartment building. Storybrooke, Maine, as it was, was the quintessential American town. Small enough for everyone to know their neighbors, white picket fences, family-owned and run shops, Emma's hometown was little more than the blinking traffic light on Main Street. That was about 80% of the reason she'd decided to even apply to a university further away: Portland was the closest city, and it was at least an hour's drive on a good day. Sure, she'd always be the small town girl she was raised as, but everybody's should experience more than that in their life, shouldn't they?

The car ride was spent ignoring the elephant in the room, (or, rather, vehicle) but not in silence. David inquired into other aspects of his daughter's life, from her professors' attitudes to the basketball team's season thus far. She, in turn, asked about the cases he was working on and the well-being of the officers and staff she knew he worked with. It was nice, just catching up with her dad. It was something she wished she did more often, but never thought about until after the phone line had gone dead.

He insisted on carrying all but Emma's handbag up the three flights to their door ahead of her. Normally, she would've protested, but after his persistence in front of Killian and their traveling conversations, she despaired to ruin the moment.

From the second she glimpsed the bronze 3 on the green door, Emma, in a biological mystery, felt herself simultaneously tense and relax. Her father unlocked the door and it swung open, revealing the old-style loft she'd grown up in. The kitchen table she'd done hours of homework on sat just to the right of the entrance, across from the stairs she'd embarrassingly tripped up multiple times a day. The living room, petite though it was, was beyond that, the television turned on but muted. Her mother had the habit of keeping it on while she was cooking dinner, if for no other reason than to keep her on her toes.

That's where she was now, fluttering from the oven to the stove and back. When Emma closed the front door, Mary Margaret halted in her fussing and, completely ignoring her husband's outstretched arms, hurried over to her daughter. Emma didn't even have time to drop her bag on the table, and she stumbled backwards at the force with which her mother enveloped her.

"Emma, honey," she mumbled into her neck. Emma eagerly returned the embrace. Mary Margaret pulled back and surveyed her, rotating her by her shoulders and barraging her with questions. "How are you? How are you feeling? Are you hungry? How's your morning sickness? Do you have any? I remember when I was pregnant, it wasn't so much morning sickness as it wa-"

"Mom," she laughed out. "I just got home. Give me a little time and I'll answer all your questions." Mary Margaret stopped, but, after finishing her inventory of Emma, soon opened her mouth to continue. Emma grasped her mother's arms and solaced her. "I'm fine. Really. I'm starved, in fact." Leaving her mother's embrace, she walked behind the kitchen island to see what was on the stove. It smelled heavenly, whatever it was. "What's for dinner?"

"Spaghetti," she answered, finally welcoming her husband home with a chaste kiss on the lips.

"How much longer do I have to wait for real food?"

Both her parents laughed. "You're actually right on time," Mary Margaret happily announced. "The noodles'll be ready in three or four minutes." She looked to the bags still in her husband's arms. "Honey, put those down. Emma can deal with them after dinner. Both you go wash up."

After some grumbling, Emma took some of her stuff up to her room, allowing her father time to brief her mother on the situation. They had no secrets, either because they simply knew when there was something to say or her mother couldn't keep anything hidden. She turned the knob to her room, and opened it up to find the dying sun's rays stretching like a cat on her carpet. Nothing had changed since she was home last, at least not at first glance. Emma dropped her bag to the ground and washed her hands in the adjoining bathroom.

When she returned, she wrenched open her cedar wardrobe (10-year-old Emma thought it was a brilliant idea to stick her diary in between drawers and the storage unit never really recovered from it) and dug through it for something comfy she could spend the rest of the night in. Finding a pair of ragged pair of sweatpants and a high school track shirt, she quickly exchanged her school clothes for their more comfy alternatives. Then she flopped backwards on her bed, waiting until her mother yelled for her.

She remembered being a little girl in this room: the dollhouse in the corner, covered in dust, and the stuffed animals above her head stood as a testament to those long-gone years. She'd lost her first tooth in this room, precariously placed it under her pillow and prayed the Tooth Fairy would appreciate it. The number of nightmares and dreams she'd had in this room were infinite, but she always woke in the morning comforted by the familiarity her warm walls had offered.

This was her home if there ever was one. It reflected her evolution from a girl to a woman from the variety in the titles on the shelves to the clothes in her closet. It had been a subtle change, one that she only fully recognized now that it was about to change again. From the safe haven of a little girl to the home of a mother and child.

_Lots of changes coming._

"Dinner!"

Emma sighed and, just as she did when she was younger, struggled to get up from the fluff of her bed. She hopped down the stairs, keeping a tight grip on the railing (she was famous for tripping both down and up them) and slid gracefully into her seat at the table just as David placed a steaming serving bowl of spaghetti in the center. The trio served themselves and all stayed quiet for a little bit, except for the clacks and scraps of silverware against plates.

Mary Margaret was the one who finally broke the silence. "So you've got an appointment tomorrow at noon. You'll be up by then?" she asked.

"Yeah, of course," Emma assured her. Setting her fork down, she added, "Thanks again, Mom, for calling them."

Lips pursed, her mother nodded, focusing intently on the swirl of pasta on her fork.

"You're going with her?" her father inquired, a twirl of noodles halfway to his mouth.

"Of course."

Silence ensued once more, Emma picking at her plate, until David sighed and asked the question that had been on his mind since he pulled into the parking spot at the university. "So do we get to know anything about this entire situation or are we going in blind?"

His daughter groaned. "Look, I want to tell you about my sex life as much as you want to hear it," she addressed them. She put her fork down again, this time permanently. This conversation was inevitable, she knew, but still. It ruined her appetite. "It was just a mistake."

"Emma," Mary Margaret reprimanded her, "how did this happen? Did you forget to use a condom or something? Could this have been prevented?"

Alarms rung throughout her head. _Lie, lie, lie. _She was already disappointing her parents to an immeasurable degree. Knowing that she had put herself in this situation would be the nail in the coffin. _LIE. _

"It just happened," she settled for. "It could've been prevented, but apparently the condom thought otherwise." _Not a complete lie, _she thought. _That'll do for now._

David harrumphed in vague satisfaction. "So long as you were being safe."

"Don't worry," she guaranteed them, her hands coming up in place of a white flag. "No chlamydia or the likes here."

Mary Margaret groaned at her daughter's crassness. Emma internally smiled. Her style of speaking had gotten a bit more vulgar since going away to school and sometimes she just forgot to censor it when she came home.

All business, David asked "And the father?" In between bites of salad, he added "What about him?"

Emma shook her head. "We just hooked up a couple times, nothing real serious. I haven't told him yet, and I'm not sure I'm going to."

Her parents shared a look before Mary Margaret gently said, "He deserves to know, Emma."

"And I deserve to get a college education without worrying about a child of mine somewhere else," she replied. Anger rose up in her. This was typical of her mother: never knowing the entire story, she judged that everyone deserves a second chance. Always believed the best in everyone. It's how she and her father even ended up together. Mary Margaret also had this naïve idea that you only ever fell in love once, and that person was always your first love. And, honestly, if Neal was all Emma had to look forward to for the rest of her life, maybe she was better off without one. "If I judge that this picture will be better off without him, then he can take his pity and use it for some other girl."

Both sets of eyebrows shot up across the table from her, as did the tension level in the room. She had to repress a smirk, her lips rolling inward, because the motion remind her so much of Killian. _Who, suspiciously, always seems to come to my attention at the most inopportune moments. _"How very decisive and adult of you," her father commented.

"Really though," Emma agreed. Waving her hand like royalty dismissing court, she decreed, "No more decision-making for me today. I've filled my daily quota."

The table burst into laughter, successfully diffusing the tension temporarily. "I think we can agree to that."

"Good," Emma smilingly said as she got up, dirty dishes in hand. She walked to the kitchen and stood with her hipbones against the sink. Her parents had always been the kind who, even though there was a perfectly good dishwasher right underneath the counter, made their daughter 'build character' and 'learn discipline' through the action of hand washing dishes. It was medieval, sure, and it had been one of her most frequent childhood complaints, but when she realized she was one of maybe a handful of freshman on campus who could properly do so, Emma let it go.

She vaguely heard the murmurs of her parents as they finished eating over the rushing of the spigot water. Her father cleared his throat and she tipped an ear to hear what he said. "However," David said in a low voice, "I'm going to force one last decision out of you."

Emma moaned and whirled around to regard her parents at separate ends of the table. "What now?" she asked exasperatedly, remnants of soap suds still on her hands.

They caught each other's sights and shared a secret smile before her mother said, "Will you do us the honor of choosing tonight's viewing pleasure?"

Shaking her head and chuckling, Emma replied, "Yeah, I think I can handle that."

That night, safely flanked on the couch by her mother and father, Emma enjoyed the cinematic excellence of _Captain America: The First Avenger_, if for no other reason than she got to discuss battle tactics with David and gawk at the mancandy with Mary Margaret. They talked and laughed and had she not know otherwise, Emma wouldn't have suspected a shift in the way they lived. It was normal. _It's nice to be home._

When the credits began to roll, she stood up from the couch and stretched. Despite her father's insistence that she stay for the ending scene, _we all know it's there, but I saw this in theaters and saw it then, _she bid her parents goodnight with a kiss on each of their cheeks. She left them in the living room, the volume of the credit music fading away as she stepped higher toward her room. Just as she had earlier that evening, she sagged onto her bed and thought. About school, about the future, about the impeccable physique of one Christopher Evans (_man, oh man. If only he was the other half of my predicament)_.

But just before she went to bed, another man, darker hair, eyes more blue than gray, and, though she hate to admit it, less muscular. _Always showing up at inconvenient moments, but always thankful you're there. _

She lay staring at her ceiling, covered in glow-in-the-dark stars from god knows how many years ago. Real quickly, she grabbed her phone and sent off a text. _Hopefully he'll get the reference. _Throwing her phone to some dark corner of her room, she then turned over and went to sleep with a giddy grin on her face.

_Even if you were to cross my father, I'd still pick you to win._

**a/n: yayyy ten chapters! thanks so much for reading and commenting and liking and favoriting this so far. i've never published or even written something this long and the story's not even half over yet. thank you, all of you, who're sticking with it. words cannot express how much you all mean to me.**

**remember, i'm just borrowing these characters from ABC, Adam Horowitz, and Eddy Kitsis. just putting that out there.**

**last thing, im currently writing the Captain Swan alphabet series. since there's going to be 26 chapters, i plan on posting a letter a day leading up to the fall premiere on September 28. so September 2 is when i'll start with A. if you have any ideas or words you want to see as part of that series, go ahead and tell me.**

**now i'm going to go back to my post-wisdom teeth haze. as always, feel free to leave a word telling me what you think. until next time :)**


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